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FROM THE PRAIRIE, 



A COLLECTION OF VERSE 



BY 



EDITH PALMER PjrNAM. 






"The book is completed. 

And closed like the day; 
And the hand that has written it 

Lays it away. 
"Dim grow its fancies, 

Forgotten they lie; 
Like coals in the ashes. 
They darken and die," 

— Longfellow. 



BIGELOW, MINX. 
E. E. CLOWEB, 
PUBLISHER. 






THt LibKAKY OF 
CONGRESS, 


Two Copies 


Received 


FEB 16 


1903 


Copyright 

CUSS c^ 


Entry 
XXc. No 


7- 7.-b 
COPY 


-7 ^ 

B. 



To My Husband. 



OQ 



IliTRODUGTION, 



Th^re is nothing' poet,ie in liu; hceiiery and snrrouiidiii fj-s of Rii^h 
more, ;i small rui-ai tovvo in Minnesota, unless it is in the fnr-extenh- 
ing' prairie lands, laug-hing- in frnitfulness and beauty- Yet there 
resides in this c^uiet town one whose poetic writing's should have a 
wider circulation than they have hitherto attained. Mrs. A. A. Pit- 
iiatn was born in Vernon, Mich., Nov. 23 1878, where she was known as 
Edith Marie Palmer. When verj* yountr she moved willi her pir.^n s 
to Corunna, Mich., wliere she resided for some years. There she <T"rad 
uated from the Hig-h School in June 1896; and in Decemb»M- 18J7 sh.; 
was married to Mr. A. A. Putnain, now of Ruslimore, Minn. 

Mrs. Putnam began to write p(jetry when she w;is twelve years of 
ag-e, and tiieu gave promise of a bright future. When still a school 
girl she made her first appearance in the public prints in* "The Old 
Oaken Ruler," which is, as the reader will observe, a parody on "The 
Old Oaken Bucket." This poem was published in the Gorunna Inpi - 
PENDENT. It excited great interest among the readers of that paper 
and called the attention of the public to the school girl poetess. The 
work then begUH has been continued, more than a hundred of lier 
poems have appeared in different periodicals. The youthful writer 
soon became well known and very popular, especially in religious cir- 
cles, and as she has ever been ready to respond to appeals for help, 
she hasvei-y frequently been asked to read "An original poem," at 



INTRODUCTION. 



polden wedilings, on Memorial Dav, Fourth of Ja'y f^nil at m iny pub- 
lic celebr,ili )ns. Wiien onl3^ fourtaan years of Hfre she wrote for tlui 
pages of the War Guy, of New Y.nk, llie ^'ein, '■ir)pe," atid without 
lier knovvledg'rt or permission thi.-> little poem was H-iven the p aee of 
honor in the Temple Builders, a paper used on Children's Diiy of lliis 
year in some of the churches. In the years of 180(1-7 she wrote a Sf- 
rial poem under the caption of "A Modern Mag^ialen" whicli appeai-- 
ed in the columns of "The Volunteer Gazette." of New Yorlf. This 
poem is I'eally a work of art. It is too long- to find a place in iliis 
volume. 

Dryden says that "A poet is a maker, as the word signifies; and 
he who cannot make, that is invent, hath the name for nothing," 
The reader of this volume will see that its author has more than the 
name, — that she is truly a maker and p osesses in large measure the 
poetic genius, — one who, as she herself declares, "writes because she 
cannot help it," — one in whose heart dwells some etliaence of wisdom 
some tone of the "eternal melodies." 
RusiLMoRE, Minn. 

November, 1901. I?ev. A. F. Thomson, 

Presbyterian Pastor. 



©tMflMfl. 



Poems I 

IMy Homt» 3 

On the Prairie «• 

iSince HaHy Came 7 

A r.ullMby U 

A Gift 11 

Visions 13 

The Story of Life. .• 14 

The Other vSide . 18 

The Poets License 19 

To My First Love 21 

By the Shiawassee 22 

Our Martyred President 25 

My J u ne i 27 

Loves Young' Dream 37 

For Thee 39 

You II nd 1 . . . . I 40 

Forj^et You 44 



COTTTENTS. 



One Wo'.nans L isl Woi-J 45 

A Word of ThaiikF 47 

The Kat.v-Di(i 49 

Oomle limed 5:i 

The End of the Phiy o3 

T^ivided 5o 

My Kin>r 58 

Scicritire 59 

A ISonsr of Fume GO 

Not Deiui 62 

Earihs Eden (iH 

A Woman'-s Answer 65 

The Ohi Oaken Rule- 71 

Lifes School 7;i 

A Tale of the Kanarauzi 75 

The Sonl of Authocslup 79 

:SIy Heritasje 87 

The Hammock on the Lawn . 89 

Isabel 91 

Jlappme^s. 95 

Changes 96 

Au E^rotist .. 99 

Tell 101 

Forget Yon 106 

The Shooting of The Well 108 

The Fire.. Whistle Ill 

I\ly Cve^4 115 

How Th;e)V Grow i;iU 

The Light of Tlie World 121 

Three Christinas Eve's 124 

An Angel Visitant 130 

]Molher Thoughts 131 

A Song for the Living 132 

A Song of Cheer i;i3 

In Prairie Skies 131 

The Holy Sliadow 136 



CONTENTS, 



En Masque 138 

The Man of Galilee 140 

A Tale of The Christ 14r> 

Trust 14 3 

I.iolatiy 144 

Glad Tiding-s 14<i 

A n Every Day H ero 148 

Grandmother l^U 

Priseilla Abbot l-''^ 

Lincoln's F^rayors 15(5 

(Jarlielvi l;"iS 

Victoria I-t-* 

Prince Henry of Pi'ussia I'i'' 

Tne nrunkiird".s Daughter l')*^ 

Finding' Jesus l~0 

Nosce Tiepsum l"i 

Con-olation 1^5 

Tlie First Robin ITH 

'I'wo Views 1~8 

Lif." 1T9 

(r Ml 1 n Nature 181 

A Denediction 184 

l.\ MEMORIAM 

(r,.:ls \V,iy 187 

A Moihcr's (rrief 188 

'Iranspliiiiled 1U3 

Gone 11 fo e 11*4 

H.-reave-l ; 198 

A C nsiili iiiion 20U 

llenuuciulion 301 



Copji-iffhled 1901. 
All Rights Reserved. 



POEMS. 



I'OEMS, 



'•An orig'inal poem" — 'twas this they requested, j 

"But wliat," pondered I, "iniffht that article be?" 
So I strained to the utmost each power in me vested, 

But not an available tlieme came to me! 
"Ah me!" then I si^rlied; "has the Muse me forsaken? 

Has she ffone from me now to return not aprainV 
If she from my soul hath her ministry talcen, 

Can I ever ag-uin sense a pleasure or pain?" 
1 touched upon every conceivable notion. 

But nothing' of suitable interest conld find. 
Till my brain grew so weary of troubled commotion 

1 slept, and this thoupfht came to quiet my mind. 

Each heart and each life in itself is a po/^m. 

Though seldom we think of the words as we write. 
But the angels above as we form thorn can know tiiem. 

And some day their nieaning will dawn on our sight. 
There are some full of pathos, and some songs of g-hidness 

While some are unspeakably lender and sweet; 
There are some where each measure beats nothing- hut saciness, 

That are laid, penned in tears, at a kind Saviour's feet. 

There are some cut so short we must guess at their mean iii", 

The rhjflhm so brolven we can't comprehend; 
While others so long that for hidden thought g-Ieaniiig, 

The first is forgot ere we get to the end. 
We find some devoid of our interest forever, 

So dull they appear, and to us common place; > 
But some one may read what our eyes discern never 

And find in the rudeness much beauty and g^race. 



POEMS. 



Some of them are deep, oh, so deep in their beiiuly! 

We cannot g"lean half of the truths that they hold; 
Some of them are stern, full of action and duty, 

In grand, stately blank verse their story is told. 
While some trip along" in the gayest of meter, 

So frivolous, iiglil, there seems nothin<f below; 
We scan them in haste while we wish they were sweeter, 

Perhaps they've a beauty that we cannot know. 

AUis! there are some we find sadly immoral. 

We search them in vain for one word that is pure; 
There seems not one thought to be worthy of laurel, — 

Let us hope thiH theii- viieness may yit find a cure. 
Every breath ihai wu draw we a line more are writing", 

And wofds ihat no piwur of the earth can erase; 
In blood, eV('!-\' line we ;ire Hnnly indititi','-, 

And many the blots tliat the pages deface. 

How many an i-rror wc* make in the meter! 

How often the wordh that we use fail to rhyme! 
But oil, it will all be iinnieasurably sweeter 

When the angels shall set it to music and time. 
It is then we sliall read thein in all tlieir completeness, 

It is then we hhall know what we now cannot guess, 
We will find in the scorned one the unlooked-for sweetness 

And wonder our blindness on earth to confess. 

vViien the great Publisher shall search out every feature 

He'll weigh ever.v syllable iuslly and well; 
He'll mete out the piiymeiit to each hiimiin creature, 

And each woith3- thought in the balance will tell 
What judgment will He pa^s (in mine, oft I wonder, 

I know He will not carelessly pass it by. 
But will patiently bear with each failure and blunder, 

(I'll trust it to Him without even a sigh!) 

I know He has passed through the struggle before me. 
He knows just how hard evei*y line is to form; 

Let the harshness of critics pass ruthlessly o'er me, 
For greater the triumph when great is the storm! 



MY HOME. 



God <rrant it be such He may write on its pacjes, 
'Way down at the bottom in ink red with blood, 

"Accepted!" — atoned for in long'-buried ages, 

Corrected by Christ with His soul-cleansing flood. 

Oh, Heaven help the one who so sorely has blotted 

His lines, that God's love no atonement can find, 
But must pen, at the close of the sheet, soiled and sp >tted. 

That word that no eye could read calmly, "Declined!" 
O friends, let us write every stanza through praying. 

And make diyine love and its sweetness their trend. 
That when we present them. He without delaying 

May write us His check that avails to the end. 



iVlY HOME. 

Lovingly dedicated to the dear ones at home. 

Ah yes! it was only a dream of the past. 

Only a vision too sweet to last. 
Only the scenes I would oft recall — 

The sweet old pictures from memory's wall! 
How plainly I saw the little place 

Where I was reared, and eacli old-time face 
Arose before me distinct and clear. 

Defying the flight of each faded year! 



Each street in the town passed before my view. 

And the cot on the corner my school davs kneiv. 
Seemed to rise atjain from the vanished past: 

And I sighed for the youth that had flown so fast! 
Dear faces oi friends did mv dream recall, — 

The kindly old pastor, school-teachers, and all 
Whom so oft I met, passing up and down; 

For once more I lived in the dear old town. 



MY HOME. 



I was in the old home so c I'-y ^nd nc at, 

That stood on the corner .i iliat old street, 
And I lived again every happy day 

That all too speedily sped away. 
I was almost a child, for I wondering^ stood 

Between my gnrlhood and womanhood. 
Peering- ont into the great unknown, 

Longing, yet fearing, to start alone. 

My mother's sweet face was as clear 'to my gaze 

As ever it siione in the old happy days. 
And her gentle blue eye beamed as kindly as then; 

Oh! what would I not give to see her again! 
And Father — how dear was this vision to me! 

It showed me a form that I never more see, 
And it brought me a glance from the twinkling black eye. 

That so oft gleamed with mischief in times long gone by. 

Every time-iiallowed scene tliat I loved to behold 

Returned to me, and I could see as of old 
My mother go oft to thii.t, sacred old drawer 

Where was lain every garm.^nt the little one wore 
Who dwelt here below only three days in all. 

And then went to answer the (rood Shepherd's call, 
Who only had lent him that we might betiold 

How lovely the Uimbs that are found in His fold! 

Dear Baby! we mourned for him deenly and well. 

But the Father knew best when He took him to dwell 
Wiiere no evil can coine and no sin can allure, 

But where he will e'er be kept guiltless and pure. 
Another old scene brought a thrill to my breast: 

For Mother again in the pleasant home-nest 
Was sitting with me in the fast-fading light. 

Awaiting dear Father's retnrn for the night. 

And when she discerned old "Kits's" fast-coming pace, 
What a smile would illumine that dear, patient face, 

As she flew with a welcome so sincere and briglit 
Methinks that the angels must smile at the sight! 



MY HOME. 



Then I saw all at home at the close of the day, 
Perhaps some friend in, and the work all away. 

While the eveninorsoon passed with the lionverse so meet, 
And the sing-iaj^ of song's, old, but so quaintly sweet. 

I saw others come on whom coldly they smiled; 

-There were none over-welcome who came for their child : 
There was only the one who was sp ired them, you know, 

And they shrank from ihe time when she also might g'o. 
There were brave lads and true f had known in those days 

But it seemed there was none wlio could win all their praise. 
I can see if all now, as in fancy I rove; 

I had thoug'hl it reproof, but 1 learned it was love. 

I saw liow tlie nei^rhbors dropped in for a chat 

On the fortune of this one, tlu- failure of that; 
And there rose to my min<l as they lojiceJ long" ago 

Every one oi the faces that home used to know. 
I saw dear old (xraaihui. w;tii hiir tingled with g"rey, 

Who oft came to visit ns out for a da/. 
And brighten our lives with- her kind words of cheer, 

iier noble advue, and hin- coinforting- tear. 

And I saw just another old face in my dream — 

'Twas the face of an aunt who upon me did beam, 
Who sometimes made visits of quite an extent, 

And visits I hailed as a royal event, 
lier dear, kind old far.e smiled us sweetly on me, 

An.i her jokes seemed to fill me with snch harmless g'lee 
As followed her wcn-ds in the J.ear diiys of yoi'e 

And 1 sobbed that her face 1 should see never more. 

Hut the scene which aro'ind me the richest lig'it shed. 

And linger.id long- after the bright dream had lied, 
\Vas that where dear Father and Mother were b.)>ved, 

And offering their prayers to the throne of their Ood. 
'Twas the dearest of pictures [ knew iu the past. 

And I know in my memory it ever will last. 
Like a strain of swc't music vvi' heard long ago. 

That thrills through our being and never will go. 



ON THE PR.AIRIE. 



Is it strange that the dream was as saddenino' as dear, 

When I know but too well it can ne'er re-appear! 
Is it strange that I wake but to tenderly yearn 

For the days that 'tis folly to hope raig-ht return! 
Ah, how oft I have long'ed when a burden I bore 

To creep to the shetlering' arms, as of yore, 
Of that dear one— my comrade in all tnat was done 

Wlio proved herself mother and sister in one'. 

Ah why," says my heart, "was it only a dream? 

Or why was it sent but to give me a gleam 
Of the bright happy past that saw so little pain' 

But that while I live I can ne'er know again?" 
God grant that the memory shall never depart, 

But that it shall linger to brighten my heart: 
Until when froin this earth my freed spirit flies, 

I may find that old home all renewed in the skies! 



ON THE PRAIRIE. 

I am looking o'er the prairie, snread before me like a sea — 

Just one broad, unbounded meadow, fettered not by fence or tree; 

And it brings a sense of freedom to the chambers of my soul. 
And the vision of God's greatness sweeps away my self-control. 

Somehow, life seems something grander than it ever did before. 
Almost seems to know no limit, but to broaden more and more. 

Reaching higher heights and deeper depths than fancy could unfold 
Full of mysteries unfathomad, full of glories uiiextolled! 

Oh! the prairie, like God's mercy, seems to realize no end; 

Miles and miles, as rods appearing, may before our g.ize extend, 
Just as lo the Father's vision may be spread a thousand years. 

That to His divine conception as a single day appears. 

Oh! 'tis grand to feel the thrilling of the wind through every vein, 
As It sw.feps with migiuy forcr! across the never-ending plain; 

Grand lo watch the vogetation wave a^ far as eye can reach, 
And to pinder o'er the lessons tluit no other clime could teach! 



SINCE BABY CAME. 



it to-niyhi a sense of loneliness throu<rh all \nv mu-sino-s steals. 
And a lonifing- far the honae life that no voice of nature heals; 
> I'm looking' in the distance, home seems far beyond my ken, 
And I feel myself an exile, wandering" from the haunts of men. 

ome! there's something in her borders, tho' so small and close liiey Vie, 
Thii somehow these broadening- acres yet have failed to bring to me: 
lio' the prairie m,\y inspire me, yet it, wakens in my breast, 
Yearnings for the unattainalile, till roy spirit icnows no rest. 

3ere one needs mnsr be broad-minded." this to me in.jest thi'v sny. 
And I smiled to them an answer, but my lhong"hts are f;ir away; 
ad I wonder, in tiie old liomN whrn-e nfiiiines our only care 
Was the sorrow of our neighbor, were we '"narrow-ininde'l" there' '.' 

arrow-minded? Well, pei'h ip-; so. for n(< I'vil thoug-lits we knew. 

And our neighbor's imperfections seeme«\ to us to be but few; 

'e liad not the minds to g^ather vile suspicions from t'le air. 

For we bore eacli otlier's burdens, nrid were frieiuls throug'h foul or fair. 

h! tlie world of Ciod is wondrous, and His workings are sublime! 

Herk is lofty inspiration; tuekk is peace and rest for time; 
nd vvhate'er He iiave in keeping f(U- our [portion by-and-by. 

We cm trust Him, for lie knows us. ;md will all our need supply. 



SINCE BABY CA/VIE. 

Before she came, sometimes my heart seemed weary 

My poor feet shrank from pebbles in the wny: 

Oft-times the sky seemed overcast and dreary; 

The day was long — f sometimes failed to pray. 

My lot was brig-lit, but I \ing"ratefully 

Refused my g-lorious happiness to see; 

Accepted life's best gifts as if my due, 

Dissatisfied witli all the joys I knew; 

Thus life went on, but ah! — no more the same 

Since babv came! 



SINCE BABY CAME. 



JJefore she came, 1 felt that I was rioino- 

Ihe will entire of Christ, onr Savimir IvitijT: 
I thoug-ht, there was no aim of my piiisueiii<;>-, 
Tluit did noi with His blessed sancuon riiif--. 
But now my poor nnwortbineb.s I see; 
I wonder how sneh joy coald come to me 
Who was so cold, so f-inful, and so weak — 
So fai- from all the glory 1 would seek! 
Yes, yes! I now can see my fault and blame 
Since baby came! 

Since baby came my lieart is over-fliwing- 
With gratitude to God for all His cire; 
I feel He blesses me beyond all Knowing- 
In g-ivin;^ to my trust iliis trea.sure rare; 

Her little fing-ers lead me lo His throne, 
And as t.iiey gently twine ab()ut my own, 
1 sliudiler at the trust reposed in in?. 
And long- more faith, more righteousness to seel 
With uatoid love my heart is ail aflame, 
Since baby came! 

Since baby came I often sit and wonder 

What may the future hold for her in wait; 
What joys may bless, what griefs may Lear asunder 
The little heart that now fears not its fate? 
Oh! if 1 only could buL stand between 
My darling, and the trials all unsaen 
That some day are so sure to cross her waj', 
How gladly I would bear them all for aye! 
Uh, how I long to shield that tiny frame 
Since baby camel 



Since baby came, the tiniest of creatm-es. 
My life seems almost to be made anew 

I loolc into those little angel-features, 
My eyes o'er flowing with a happy dew; 

And pray "O God, help me to lead aright 



A LULLABY. 



Tliehe little feotso tender and so while! 
M;iy I present lierat the last g^reat day 
Spotless and perfect as when fii-st she laj' 
Within my arms my raotiier-love to claim 
When babjr came!" 

Since baby came I ask no other treasure; 
No other gift from Heaven do I crave; 
The rapture in my heart now knows no measure; 
I iiave the richest blessinpi' God e'er g'ave; 

The way no more seems cold or dark or drear; 
I see the stin when only clouds appear; 
I can appreciate my boundless bliss, 
And seek to know no brig-hter world than this; 
O no! tills life can never be the same 
Since baby came! 
Fkbhuarv 1S'J9. 



A lUllaby. 



Nestle snucrly in my arms and close those drowsy eyes, 
For the birdies now are sleeping" in the" tree, 
And the posies, too, are drooping 'neath the dark'ning" skies, 
Wliile you lie and prattle^tilT ii'pOn my knee. 

Weary nature calls for rest, 

Cuddle closer to my breast, 
Go to sleep and be renewed for morning joys; 

Off to Dreamland steal away, 

B;ick again at break of day, 
Wake again to laugh and play with tiny toys. 

Sleep then in peace, my baby dear: 

Mother is eyer, ever near! 
Sleep, ray little one, sleep! 
Sleep, m^' pretty one, sleep! 
The atigels are near and their vigil will keep. 

Sleep, oil, sleep! 



10 A LULLABY- 



Creep up closer to my heart, my babe, and speak to me, 
Of a love that shuped itself a tiny queen; 
One who sig'nals oft, assured her call obeyed will be, 
Little despot of our home, Eileen! 

]{ut suspend your soverei<fn sway, 

Rctit in peace until the day. 
Even queens must lay at eve the^cepter down; 

Close lliose little eyes of blue; 

Tliey are grrovving' heavy, too! 
Rest them now, my little queen without a crown. 
Sleep then in state, my baby queen, 
The day is done — sleep svveet, Eileen! 

Hush-a-bye-baby-bj-e! 

Roek-a- bye-baby-bye! 
I?ye-oh-t)y-baby-by-bal>y-(>h-byo! 

IJye-oli-bye! 

Many hearts are crushed witli sorrow, do not let it mar y .ur rest; 
All Lhe woi-l(! may mourn, yet you sleep sweetly on! 
Though beside you some are liiding' bleeding- waunds within 

the breast. 
Never mind, pet, what know you of sob or mian? 

All too soon you'll learn it, dear. 

Learn it with a bitter tear. 
Learn that life is full of heartache and of care; 

Oh, if it mig'ht only be 

You no deeper griefs might see, 
Mother's heart a double load would gladly bear! 
But every heart must know its pain — 
And every cheek its tear drop's stain. . 

So sleep, my happy one, sleep, 

Sleep, ray precious one, sleep! 
(jrod grant it be long ere the heart-shadovvs creep. 

O'er your sleep! 



Near and nearer fall the lids that guard those bonny eyes 

Veiling orbs of beavity fresh from Heaven's blue; 

Deep and deeper grows the wirm sweet breath as still she lies, 



A GIFT. 11 



Folded to 1113' Miotlier heart so warm and true. 
Little eyes, so loath to close, 
Still would watch, nor seek repise. 
But they must give up when sleepy-timj is liere, 
Soon, ail silent on my knee, 
Off in Dreamland wanders she. 
With the music of the fairies in her ear. 
Rest now in peace, my little one — 
Sleep till the rising- of the sun. 
Sleep, my baby, on sleepi 
Sleep, my darling, oh sleep! 
The nngrels about you their watch-care will keep, 
Sleep, sweet, sleep! 
(Ih99.) 



A GIFT. 



Down throug-h a wilderness of woe, 
Down throug'h a f^loom you cannot know, 
Throuprh blackest darkness I must go. 

My soul and God alone; 
And there 'twixt Heaven and earthly lanl, 
In sight of the eternal strands. 
This soul was given in ray hands 

To be my very own. 

Back throug'h the valley then I came, 
Back through the shadow, worn and lame. 
Bearing this life that knew no name 
T") home, dear heart, and you; 
Yes, all the way from Heaven's gate, 
Where life and death together wait 
1 brought her in this sinless state 
As pure as Heaven's dew. 



VISIONS. 



Ah, she is mine, sir! you iTiig-l\t, be 

A father all iiiiknnwin<Tly; 

B it I, earth's sharpest pinsrs must see 

A mother's cro'J\'n to vveac; 
Yet is she your -, -my heart can trace 
Your likeness in her little face. 
And n-ives her yet a warmer place 

Who doth your features bear. 

Ah, she isouKs! how g-rand to know 
That from our love tlii^ life should g-row 
And tliat our lives tog-ether flow 

For acTfis yet removed; 
That when we twain are dead and gone. 
Our lives may yet live or and on: 
A nation yet may bi- bog'un 

Because we tw,) have loved. 

Yes, lov ', I bring: ycm at its start, 
This dearest offering of my heart! — 
A life of our own lives a part 

Into our charge is given, 
That you arui I tog-ether, dear, 
Though all unworthy of a share 
Shall find amid a life of care 

A little bit of Heaven. 
(April 1901.) 



VISIONS. 

Onee I was a creature of visions. 

And I dreamed of a future so great. 
And aimed at a fortune so brilliant 

That I felt myself stronger than FateJ 
'Twas a fairy-like life I had painted, 

So rosy with poetry's glow, 
And the secrets of all of Earth's splendor 

Seemed to open to me as I'd go. 



VISIONS. IS 



lint llie years c mill and went; and the glory 

Seemed just as far off as of old; 
Tlionyh just as enticing* as ever 

' i'was a wili-o'-the-wisp in ray hold. 
Th« Muse would not dance to ray music 

15ut played thi! bewitching coquette, 
And eluding raj' grasp stood atid mocked me 

With the drearas thai 1 could not forget. 

IJut now, all those visions have f;ided. 

And, simjli )vv, they la iv.i no regret, 
For my life has been filled up with loving. 

And the dreams that are lingering yet 
Are hopes for the future of nestlings 

Whom God has consigned to ray care, 
And my life work is m tpped out before me — 

A work that my loved ones can share. 

1 soraetiraes recall the old visions, 

And I smile at the way they have passed 
And merged in the form of a housewife 

That future— too dream-like to last,; 
'Tis a phantom that flutters before me 

As I'm busily moulding my bread, 
Or peL^p-i at m3 out of ih '. earners 

Through the dust thai I swvep o'er my head. 

Think not Earth has lost all her brightness; 

8he hath g.ories I never had guessed, 
A id daily new beauty discloses 

In the eyes of the ones I love best; 
There are melodies never yet fatliomed 

From the heart of the Poet above. 
Whose touch is the sweetest perfection, 

Whose theme is the purest of love. 

Yet, sometimes the old spell comes o'er me, 
And the old visions surge througii ray brain 



14 THE STORY OF LIFE. 



And I grasp ai my pencil to catch them 
Before they have vanished ajrain; — 

But I find that conainitted to paper, 
The thoughts are not what I snupose 

And that I am by fir more successful 
In "composiny'' ray babies some :ilothes. 

So I turn to tlie pathway of duty, 

I5ut [ tind it so smooth to my feet. 
That I wonder if that which I longed for 

Could ever have been half so sweet: 
Then I look in the dear liltle faces 

So tru-itingly lifted tn mine — 
And my heart answor^ — "No, (iod was wiser; 

JMo 'career' could be lairer than thine." 

It is str.inge as f look at those asliei 

That lie all around me so low 
That I luive not one sigh for tlie castles 

That I filled full o^ hopes long ago; 
But perhaps in some far-away spring-tine 

When the labor of living is less, 
I may walk as of old through m3' Dreamlan t 

And pick up some crumbs of success. 



THE STORY OF LIFE. 



The twilight shadows deepened into night, 
In Fairyland — the fairy land of earth — 

The breeze of even, soft and warm and light 
Seemed in some fairy bower to have its birth, 

As stealing in, it fanned with kiss serene 

The lovely cheek of Life, the fairy queen. 



THE STORY OF LIFE. 15 



So soft, so glorious, liad existence bei^n 
To Life, she scarce had dreamed of au<;fht beside; 

She hardly knew of Caie, of Grief, or Sin, 

For all her house was pure, and earth was wide; 

With Love, the king-, and Friendship, next of clan. 

Her cup with happiness and joy o'erran. 

The lovely queen two tiny servants kept 

Invisible to all save her alone: 
When Consciousness, the younyer, sometimes slept, 

Tne queen slept, too, upon the fairy throne; 
And if he wandered from iier, for that day 
The queen was lost, till he resumed his swaj'. 

The elder. Realization, seldom slept; 

At times, the queen were happier if he would; 
And yet the day so full of sunshine kept 

That Life could only murmur, "it is g^ood!" 
Tne fairyland of E irth was vory fair 
For God's own glory ever lingered there. 



But now, as shadows darkened, and the niglit 
Seemed settling as a veil o'er Fairyland, 

The fairy Grief beside her did alisrht 

And wave before her face his magic wand; 

Her heart was touched — her happy face grew white 

And drawn; she shrank and shuildered as in fright. 

She grew more faint, more wan; her head was dazed; 

For Grief, allied to Sin, had left his stain; 
At last, when heart and brain were nearly crazed, 

Her servant. Realization, left her train 
And fell asleep. Oh! what a blessed balm! 
For then poor Life grew inwardly more calm. 



10 THE STORY OF LIFE. 



Love tried so hai'd to comfort her sad heart, 
Acd Friendship, too, had done the best he knew; 

And when they saw her stor:n of sobs depart, 
Tliey felt they had sncceeded, and that throug-h 

Their deeds, tlie spell iidd fra:n her spirit passed, 

And peace and happiness returned at last. 

Alas! how could they know her heart was sore 
And ached as on the ni.i,''ht when first Grief came; 

Two fairies s'le had never Ictiown before 
Wer ; U-eepiQ;.^ it fr.)in bursting' into fl une: 

Two tiny ones, Resolve and Self-C')ntrol, 

Hal wip;d Her tears, and caline 1 her voice and soul. 

liU^ even they could n it li,iveil<}ne so well, 

Had Realizitioa not in pity slept,; 
E'en now, Life suffered more than they could tell. 

And must, while Consciousness his vig-il iiept; 
Tliou^-h Love ant! Friendship now could but rejoice 
T(j miss her tearful eyes, and tremoliui.f voice. 



Thus time passed on, and days — yes, years — had sped 

VVlien Realization waked to life ayain; 
And then slie suffered as in days long- fled, 

And m )re than when Grief first had brought her pain: 
So lonEC it had been since that fatal nii»'ht 
That Love and Friendship hid fiM'g'jtten quite. 

And why should the^^ remember? Why, indeed? 

Rssolve and Self Cijutrol were weary, too; 
It g'rew so hard to minister to her need 

That oft times it were more than they could do. 
When Love and Friendship looked on her, they sighed; 
They could not guess her heartache if they tried! 

Sometimes, poor Life would try to tell them all. 

But Pride forbade — that naughty fairy, Pride! — 
And so alone she suffered, none to call 



THE STORY OF LIFE. 17 



An I so the pain was heavier Lh m before 
When Love and Friendship had a poruioa bore. 

A nd once .she spnl^e, and sought to ief, them Itnow, 

lint every wo.d she said was misconstrued; — 
They were so busy— yet they loved her so!— 

Her heart was crushed:— and no one understood! 
Poor Life! She fell herself condemmed each day 
. T<» henceforth walk asolitiry wav! 

At last, Resolve and Self-Controi no more 

C )uld serve to drivs the tremor from her voice; 

Then Resignation volunteered to pour 

Her comfort, and Life soon learned to rej lice. 

iShe rested then— poor Life so long- had sighed 

For jnst such rest! but it had been denied! 



Once more they all rejoiced in Fairyland! 

But soon the darkest of all fairies came 
To Life, and waved before her face his wand, 

As Grief had done, and gently called her name. 
She followed him unto a crystal stream, 
As fair and lovely as a poet's dream. 

Across its wiivis, he gently rowed the queen — 
A river wiiich no one could cross alone; 

q^'ViP^r iriided to a land of richest sheen; 
'Twas Heaven — the briorhtGst fairy-land e'er known. 

She had left L tv>! and Friendship on the shore, 

Wiio watched their loved one till they could no more. 

Tiieir straining eyes could see so little ways; 

And when thej' caught the last glimpse of her form, 
Grief came to them, as in the golden days 

He cime to Life; and now the rackiug storm 
Of anguish taught them as no words could do 
How L'fe liad suffered when they little knew 



18 THE OTHER SII>E. 



TriE OTHER SII>Z. 

We watclied the strog-sle tlirougu with bated breath. 

We prayed that yloriou* victory should be oiu'^; 
Tiiat those w i loved mi^'htbi preserved from deatii, 
And oar proud nation prove Iter martial powers. 
^Ve shouted vvhea the cruel strife was o'er. 
And victor's laurftls all our heroes wore. 
We did not pau-.e to think in all our pnd.* 

There was another side! 

Another side, with just as eag"er eyes. 

And just as yearning' hearts to see the end; 

Who prayed, 'mid just as anxious tears and sig^hs 
Tiiat God their loved ones would from death defend: 

And who a? in each strife they murked its course, 

And saw their loss was daily g-n)wing- worse. 

Sank, treniblinj,'", unLlerneath their sorrow's tide — 
Th;it is the other side! 

YVe look upon the satldened ixuii'^'s bereft 
Of those whom duty called to face the foe; 

Our hearts are wrung- '-vith grief for bjved ones left 
To motirn the ones by cruel war laid low. 

We try to comfort them in their distress; 

But do we shed one tear in tenderness 

For those who mourn the cherished ones who died 
Upon the oth 'r sitli ? 

Nivl SeM' so in our he:'.rts roU^s all our thou.;'ht 
We s.Mrc^dy feel the pity we should know; 

We scarcely think tiie pain our vict-ory brought 
To those the conflict doomed to loss and woe. 



THE POETS LICEKSE. 19 



Flow can wc, iti our ]oy at well-earned peace 
Forget tlie grief tliat comes, when cannons cease 
To those who are to bitter loss allied 

Upon the other side! 

And so, in other of the walks of life; 

We strug-gle onward towards a happy g'oal; 
We pass competitors within the strife, 

And joy to think our triumph will be whole; 
We hardly give a thought to those we pass, — 
Whose grief at losing may our joy surpass! 
O, let us pause one moment in our pride 
To view the other side! 



THE POETS' LICENSE. 

What is the license of poets, you say? 
Free use — and aouse — of the language? Nay! 
Though so to you it may seem to be, 
Not SUCH is the license that God gives me. 

To hold communion with wraiths of air; 
To see a picture when none is there; 
To find a grace in tiie poorest clod; 
To trace iu the meanest the hand of (Jo I. 

To hear the whispers from lips unseen; 
To catch tlie song of the babbling stream; 
To read the sermon in every stone; 
To see in the rose not a rose alone. 

To give a meaning to mystic signs; 
To read between all of Nature's lines; ♦ 

To find a strength where all seems we ik: 
To listen in silence and let God speakj 



20 THE POETS LICENSE. 



To rescue from filth some pricelt;ss g-era 
All trodden beneath the feet of men; 
To place it where all mmkind can see 
Where the Maker intended that it should be. 

To note how tlie "chances" that come toman. 
Are only a part of God's great plan: 
How all men are brothers who earth have trod: 
And bow to the fatherhood of God. 

To open the heart to receive all truth 
To see iu the ajred the spring- of youth; 
To interpret the writing* of God's own liann; 
To find His messag^e, and understand. 

To fearless soar to the loftiest heig'ht, 
And bring down treasure from fancy's fiig-ht; 
To delve to the depths of the darkest drea-n: 
And bring' up the lowest to form a theme. 

To reject the f.ilse, and accept the true; 
To see — what is shown to all too few — 
The halo that hath God's own adorned. 
For all is sacred that He hath formed. 

To have a heart whose sympithies, 

Are moved to tears, by all th it lives; 

Its strings drawn tight thrill at each touch. 

Yes oft are dumb, they feel so much. 

This be the license that poets gain, 

That places their feet on a higher plain 

And helps them perceive 'neath the self-same sky, 

A glory that hides from the common ey^i. 

In t'le poet's soul doth a voice abide 
That quick responds to a call outside; 
And eartli itself by his magic hand 
Is oft transformed to a fairy land. 



TO MY FIRST LOVE. 21 



Tlure's a richness in all growth below, 
Tliat Niiture meant her sous ^5howld know; 
And the breexo bears music that all may hear 
For All aro poms wlien Gad is near. 



TO MY FIRST LOVE. 

A Valentine 

Sweet, sad eyes of dearest bine. 

Hair of g'olden brown; 
Form the proudest Earth e'er knew 

Mi^ht be g-lad to own. 
Thus of old she looked to me. 
Thus she lives in memory. 

Not for that I loved her so — 

Not that she was fair; 
More because of pain, you know. 

She and I must share; 
More because her heart was true 
And its matchless worth I knew. 

Always busy — fUlting- 'round 

At a task undone; 
Always at some kindness found 

For a burdened one — 
'Twas for this I loved her so 
With a love that could not g'o. 

Some might choose a younger face. 

Though not half so fair; 
Some might seek a grander place 

All their love to bear; 
But I know w'liere mine is sent, 
And I'm more than well content. 



22 BY THE SHIAWASSEE, 



Friends h-ave corae and pfone ag^ain. 

Love has proved untrue: 
Ent her love will yetremiin 

While the heavens do. 
And no other's love could be 
Half HO dear as hi^rs t ) me. 

Yes, I know the years have flown. 

But my heart is true, 
And I'm sending it, dear one. 

Every bit to you. 
Litile mother, far awav- 
lie m3' valentine today. 



BY THE SrilAWASSEE. 

I ain sittinsr alone in my room to-niffht, 

With the coal fire briofht, and the lamp turned low: 
And I'm wandering' bade throiio-h flickering' light 

To the past that shines with a golden glow. 
Some scenes arise that are brilliant yet, 

While some I see through a mist ni tears; 
There are others 'tv^ere better by fur to forget. 

That happened there, in tl>e far-olf years 
On the banks of the Shiawassee. 

I remember a day — -and what a day — 
We wandered bv the streamlet's tide: 
There were four of us who had stoleu away 

For a ramble down by the river .'jide,; 
There were whispered words, the^e were low replies. 

But the faithful river never told, 
And the m-ig'ic spell of those tender eyes 
1 learned to forget in the days of old 
As 1 stood by the vShiawar^see! 



BY THE SHIAWASSEE. 23 



Once I slDdd <^ii tin* bruiyre with u .sweet pfirl friend, 

And watched the water i^o rippling- by, 
While we p.ed;^e(l a triend>hip that .should not end 

Till tile dear old Shiii w.i.s^ee was dryl 
Oh, what it wa-s, dear, that c.ime tn part 

Our heiu'ts so soon I will never know, 
lint I'm yiad I foi-g^ave you wiili all my heart 

L»ef()re you were lyiny heneath tiie snow 
By the side of the Shi.iwassee. 

There were fi.shinij and boatinj^ and d ivs of ylee, 
Tiiat pass ill revif-w throuL.'-h my mind to uiyrht; 
I can lie.ir the son^s— I can almost see 

The old-time faces so hapny and bright: 
And mingling- with the son;;;- of the .stream 
Comes another voice that I nsetl to know, 
I'.ut I said '•'irood-bye" to that yirli.sh di-eani 
As I .->at alone in the lony- a^o 

On the bcink oi: tlie Shiawassee. 

One nii^ht I stood on the bridye alone 

And wished I were sleepinji- withiii its bed, 
For my heart was sad, and as hard as stone. 

For an unkind word that a friend had said; 
The morninyrcame and the sun was bright; 

I had told lief I e )ald nut for^i-ive nor forget, 
Butall was atoned f )r bjfore the night. 

For we by chance (or design) had met 
On the bank of the Shiawassee! 

The Shiawassee is m id to night, 

And she rushes on with a weird, wild song; 
!?nt the air is soft and the moon is bright. 

As with the current we drift along. 
C.in it be it was I who promised to be 

As true as the stars that were shining bright? 
Would he care, I wonder, if he could see 

How I nad forgotten until to night 
That ride on the Shiawassee.^ 



24 BY THE SHIAWASSEE. 



IIow weli I remember one far-off aay 

When 1 was a child by ihe river there! 
At a school picnic we were glfd and g'ay, 

■ For onr hearts were yonntr and the world was fair! 
In a boat we rowed for theli ii s white — 

Ah, tlie summer was younpf and so were we all! 
lint the romance died ere the coming- of ni<rht 
When I took a sudden prosaic fall 
In the waves of the Shiawassne! 



'Tis winter; and over the ice to-ni^'lit 

There glides a merry and t^-ladsome throjig-; 
Are their hear's as free as iheir words are lig^ht 

As over the surface they slip alons'? 
I wist not, for all that remains with mii now 

Is a face that returns to me o'er and oVr 
That went out of my life wiih that winter's snow. 

While I dropped a tear that he came no more 
In the stream of the Shiawassee. 



Old Time has vvrouprht his cliange it is said. 

And of the old faces my school days knew 
Nearly all have wandered, while some have fled. 

To the Crystal Stream beyond the blue. 
It is stranpre indeed that the frien Is of old 

So few of their youthful dreams retain! 
It is strange indeed that as years have rolled. 

So few of ray girlhood's companions remain 
By the banks of the Shiawassee! 



Why all along her shores are found 
Some land mark that might a story tell; 

And a thousand memories are clustering 'rountl 
Each point on the river I knew so we'll 



OUR MARTYRED PRESIDENT, 25 



There's notsnch a stream in t,he world to day — 
You 'niy smile, if you will, but, slie's dear to mel 

And sr^metime in the future Til wend nay way 
Aoraiii to the rirer I lonpr to see — 
The dear old .Sliiawasseei 



OlJR MARTYRED PRESIDENT. 



In theprideii perfect manhood. 

With a smile for all around, 
Eeaminp: with the joy of livinof 

And, a Cliristian qr-iiie pr.tf.iuad, 
Lioved by all the loyal people 

Whom one word of his could sway. 
The 'obtjcrved of all observers." 

There he stoo^l that autumn day. 



♦Suddenly without a warnintr 

Rang a shot upon the air. 
And the news that he was wounded 

Thrilled the anxious people there. 
Then he stag^g^ered blindly backward 

Thoun-h his mind retained its sway 
And witli words of hope and comfort 

Thus he fell — that awful dav. 



Thouffh the pain his f()rm was racking' 

And his heart was stirri^rl within. 
Yet his thoughts wei^ still for ethers 
As they ever yet had been. 



26 OUR MARTYRED PRESIDENT. 



lie eonld see his vile assailant 

In the hand^. of jnslice laj-: 
"Stay!" he cried-"let no one hnrt hinn!" 

Thus he spake — that dark, dark day- 
Later all a nation's future 

Seemed to hanfj ni>on his fate — 
He alone was brave and hopeful — 

He — tlie noble, and the great. 
Patiently the pain he suffered, 

Tried to drive th'r'ir fears away: 
With a firm Cliristlike endurarice 

Tliere he lay — that h'ny, long- (hiy. 

IJut tlie stricken, weepinsr nation 

Had to fdce the worrt at last; 
And the world bowed down in sorrow 

For ;i nnbie life had passed. 
From tt»e martyr's lips a whisper — 

'•(lood bye all. it is (iod'.s way!"' 
Then "His will be done!" he added — 

Thus he spaiie— that fatal day. 

See! the dyin-jr lips are moving-! 

Listen: what the end snay be; 
Ah! his saintly soul is sin'ring' 

'•Nearer, oh my God to ihee!" 
And that brave, strong- life is passing^ 

As befits its earthly stay: 
With a song- and pi-ayer 'tis over; 

Thus he died, that last sad day. 

Witii the nobl-.'st of all ajres 

He — the worthy — lies at rest; 
Peacefully, the turmoil ended — 

Nature foid> him to her breast; 
Where the sins and griefs of ot Jiers 

Can no more have power to Slav, 
With the martyrs gotie before him 

There he sleeps in pa ace to day. 



MY JUNE. S7 



When to vest wesad'y laid him, 

All thi> world was dark and drear; 
Once till' sun p^-eped out throuofh rain-drops — 

Natur • strng-ylin^ with her tears! 
But not lonjr — a motlier''s sorroiv 

Must in some mood have its sway; 
And the rain came down in torrents — 

Truly, Nature wept to >lay. 

North an] Siiuth hands clasped tocrether 

Stand beside that open gr-ave 
And their teai-s uneheeked are minr!fUn<T 

For the man no art could save. 
In our sorrow cun we echo 

What his dyinj? lips conld say? 
Ah! with tears. — with prayer — with anjuish, 

Thus we in inrn our chief to day. 

Not alone in conrts of g"lory 

Lives ag^ain our loved and lost. 
Not alone in sony and story 

Thoucrh they still m ly paint the cost. 
But forever in the memory 

Of the nation he will stay; 
And in all the hearts who loved him. 

There he lives, indeed, to day. 
(September l'.», 1!H)1.) 



MY JONE. 

June — month of roses, month of sun, 

Of cloudless skies and clear; 
A twelve-month's j^lories meet in one 
As June draws near; 
The sonprsters' sweetest cadences 
Are kept to form her syuiphouie-. 



28 MTY JUNE. 



Till all the melofly that is 
Is blended here! 

I knevva rLine — i parfeet Jatie 
When hill and dale and plain 
Were bathed in lig^hts that yonder moon 
Mig'ht seek in vain; 
When Nature doffed her vernal dress 
And decked herself in loveliness 
That ne'er before her charms conld bless. 
And ne'er aj^ain! 

A June that even now my heart 

Recalls with all its grace; 
A June that ever stands apart 
In one sweet place; 
The Master- Painter touclied it well; 
His brush had inayic in its spell, 
And aU its rieliest beauties fell 
On Nature's face! 

I wonder why through all tlje years 

They never come again! 
Tliough many another Jane appears 
I look in yain 
To catch one tint of all those hues, 
To catch one sparkle of those dews, 
To hear one note my Juue would choose 
For her refrain. 

Yes, call her fair — I answer not 

Nor even breathe a sig^h 
For all the radiance unforgot 
That passed me by! 
Aurora bears a frowninor face; 
The sylvan sheen is commonplace; 
And there is dearth of floral grace. 
And blue of sky! 

Love well your June — I carry mine 

Within my inmost soul. 
And there forever will it shine 
As seasons roll; 



M-y JUNE. 29 



Ynu could not match it if you tried, 
With all a whole year's wealth beside. 
This June that eaine hut once and died 
While fresh and wholel 



Twas in the June-tide of my lite 
When triflinfic care, and petty strife 
Had led me Lhroug'h besetments rife 

Unto a perfect prime; 
Twas then, when I was well-prepared 
For all the life for which I c ired 
Fate willed that with ms should be share! 

Life's orandest summertime! 

June came — how could 1 know that she 
Should bear an offerinsr to me 
That would forever after be 

Apart, in hallowed state! 
No word of warning' reached my ear, 
No stranpfe foreboding- lingered near, 
Hut blindly, %vithout hope or fear, 

I rushed to meet — my fate! 

I met her — that is all I know — 
Mayhap 'twas June that wille 1 it so 
That she herself should then bestow 

Her lovely namesake, Jnao; 
A dauprhter of the month was she, 
Witli Jill the mother's puritj'. 
And alljthe others paled to me 

As stars beside the moon! 

They told me that her face was fair. 
That rose and lily blended there, 
Thatprlossy was her dusky hair, 

And lustrous her brown eyes; 
I could not say how this might be; 
I knew that slie was fair to me 
Though in her eyes I coiild but see 

The light of Paradise. 



so MY JUNE. 



I thoijpfht that Heaven had viewed thef state. 
Of death and sorrow, sin ard liate. 
And opened wide its crystiil grate 

And sent an ang-el down; 
I could aot soe hi'v one could stand 
So free from stain in this dark land; 
I scarcely dared to tfjuch lier liaiid. 

Or meet those orbs of brownl 

And yet I sonjrhi her o'er and o'er. 

And looked and lonssfcd to know her more. 

And wislied. as never w^ished before 

To be a nobler. man; 
And somehow, all along' tnv way 
Her new — found presence seemed to sti'ay 
And crnide tne, as from d.iy to day 

The pure in spirit can! 

Ere longf in some mvstet-ioas vvay. 
Unconsciously I learned to pray; 
My soul <frew clearer every day, 

And nearer to its God; 
I could not ineet with such as she 
Without absorbing- purity, 
And an i,ntense desire to be 

Upon the plain she trod. 

Some times, by habit's curious forje 

My feet would lead some old-time course, 

^ly hand would touch some pitch no worse 

Tlian thousands handle free; 
But some vague power my touch would stay, 
A g-entle voice would murmur "Nay!" 
And I would- g'uilty turn away 

And know not why it be. 

Thus did the thought of lier intiiide. 
And form a strange, sweet interlude 
Between me and the careless mood 
I hitherto had known; 



MY JUNE. 31 



Thus did her goodness mantle me 
T.ial [ a true manhood might see, 
And grow in strength of soul to be 
Not far below her own. 



'Twas not the love that poets sing 

That gave my heart that brave new ring; 

It seemed an angel's ministering; 

To teach me to be good; 
I felt unworthy to be near 
When her light footfall should appear; 
And ha I t'ney whisp^rel she was dear 

I had not understood. 

The Heaven that seemed so far from here 
liegan to gradually grow near, 
And all its mysteries seemed clear 

Beneath her dulcet tone; 
Tlie God whoiTi as a god I knew 
Hat half-believinsr, now came true, 
And I could say, ''My Father," too. 

Who had no father known! 



There came a change — my heart began to love 

With less of heavenly tire, and more of earth; 
8he pointed me as then to One above. 

Yet imperceptibly new flame found birth. 
'Tis true I had not come to man's estate 

Without the thoughts auJ fancies that must come, 
liuL tliey were but the usual fleeting eight 

Uefore the iiiutn hath kaotid them iu one. 

And this was different -she, my guiding star. 
Had lightened up the pathway from the grave; 

Ua.i nhawn the way to all the heiglits that are, 
And satisfied desires tliat all men crave; 



32 MY JUNE. 



And how I loved her! It were easy said. 

And yet I wonder why these thing's sliould be 
That one, of all t!ie millions mtou id 'Ui soreii I 

Should seem so far above the rest to me. 

"Affinity!" you say, and I assent — 

' Twill do as well as aag"ht th it I could sny; 
1 only know a ''something'" sweet is sent 

That one touch thrills u-* as no other may. 
I saw her then the fairest of the fair, 

And croivned lier there my soul's eternal choice; 
She bound rae in the meshes of her luiir; 

She held me spellbound wiuh her velvet voice. 

Unknowing'ly, she held a willincr slave 

Whose overfliwinsr heart wa^ htransrely dumb; 
Who would the simple-it reiios-niiion crave 

Yet dare not, auc wliaL m'g'ht so freely come. 
I trembled 'neath the <,'-lancesof her eye; 

It was so very hard to umierstand 
How all my spirit could so passive lie 

Within the fing-ers of iier sm ill white hand! 

I knew I loved her, but I never knew 

In what lig-ht those dear eyes had looked at me; 
I lived within an Eden where but few 

Earth-lovers have the awful power to be. 
I do not think Earth knew a love like mine; 

I'm sure she never knew a June so fair; 
The very sunbeams seemed for her to shine; 

The breath of Heaven filled the balmy air. 

The birds sang- o'er and over, "June! my June!" 
The streamlet, too, took up the tender strain; 

The zephyrs of the evening joined the tune. 
The very hours lautflied to the refrain. 

I since have often wondered if she heard 
Tiie melodies that filled the summer aii'l 

dared not mar their jTrandeur by a vvoid — 

A discord then were more than I c>juld be.ir. 



MY JTJNE. 33 



i did not, ask lier lu*;vrl nnr eare to know. 

Enough it was to drink her every smile. 
And I content to love her, love her so. 

And Just be near her all the rapturous while. 
No future thonj^hi or hop « apo'^aled to me; 

Thank (Jod my love was free fr.)n% every taint'! 
1 did not even dreara of wh it rais;'ht be 

If 1 should find the wotum in the saiat. 

With stran(»'e new awe my spirit hf»wed before. 

And poured its deepest treasures at lier shrine; 
And knew not would my love be less or more 

To find in her moro luimnn. less divine. 
I did not speak in idle eoinplirwent. 

As otliers velio love less, nor were it wise, 
iUit revtM'enee witl» love so sweetly blent 

She m.sst have read i«y secretin my eyes. 



I let her g^o, and made no sig'n — 
I could not speak of love or lonf^inij; 

I dared not dream shemi<jht be mine. 
Nor voice the heart-tlirobs that were throag'ing'? 

As well miirhl I an aiiGfel seek 
And bid to leave the court of j^flory; 

'Twere Just <as easy then to spi^ak 
The wor.is tliat form E irth's sweetest storyl 

She never knew — her pure sweet eyes 
Were never dimmed by loves eonfessinj?- 

Her pathway leads beyond the skies, 
And I have lost my only blessinj''. 

Somewhere, to day, she walks apart. 
And makes some cloudy sky ffrow clearer; 

Nor finesses how one lonely heart 
Is panlinj? wildly to be near herl 



34 MY JUNE. 



I look back and those moments seem 
To be the fancies of a vision, 

Or like the Lotus-eater's dream 
On some far shore of joys Elysian. 

You read it and it well mig"ht be 
A pag-e of fascinatinjT fiction. — 

This brief, sweet joy that mantled m ; 
As Heaven's richest benediction. 

'Twere well the lijjht of those clear eyes 
For such a little while was given, 

Lest Earth become a Paradise 
And I should seek no other heavjn. 

And yet, not so — 'twas she alone 
That pointed out a soul's true setlinpr; 

She taught me all I've ever known. 
But now — God help me! — I'm forgetting-. 

That summer stands apart to me, 
A leaf from out the book eternal 

On which awakened eyes m.iv see 
The mysteries of joys supernal. 

Alas! the autumn came so sion, 
And left this lesson to remember — 

No year can know a second June, 
A nd roses bloom not in September. 



The winter is hero with its frost and snow. 
As cold as the hopes that I cherished si>; 
Earth holds no beauty 'neath sun or moon: 
Her glories died with the passing of June. 
I see no good in the hearts of men, 
I'm moved by nothing of tongue or pen; 
There's not one word that the best can say 
Can drive tiie clou is oi ray doubt uw ay. 



MY JUNE. 3S 



They sin^ of a God to the old sweet tune, 
Hnt^-a luvin<j father liad left my June! 
They t;ilk of a bliss tiiat can never die, 
But my 'I'looui-wi-iipt soul voices no reply. 
There was only one preacher in God's f^reat land 
Who ever could speak and my heart umlerstand. 
For, June, I had looked at my Maker throujrh you. 
And when 1 had lostymi, He went from me too! 

I seek for the waters of Lethe in vain. 
And drinix deep of Marah's ag^ain and affain, 
And in the new moisture that spring- to my eyes. 
The last feelvle spark of my manliness dies. 
*'0h Jvine! my June!" is my soul's constant cr3% 
And ttie mockiiisr of Echo its only reply. 
Till all of the hopes and ambition'i <tf years, 
Are melted away in a passion of te:ir-;. 

I look down the vista of long, lurid years. 

That seemed to hold only the old deathless fears; 

I picture a Heaven to welcome me soon. 

Hut all I conceive is perpetual June! 

Did I worship the creature'? God pardon the sin! 

Hut a jealous Creator will not let me in. 

And I'll stand just outside all t'ue bliss I would share. 

And realize only that Jwnia is there! 



The Junes they come, and Junes Ihoy g-o. 

They're all aliite to m'>: 
The June of old, too well I kn-iw. 

Cannot return to me. 

I reach mv hands to cateli the rose. 

Hut find them full of rue; 
And only bitterest wormwood grow; 

Where once the violet grew. 



36 MY JUNE. 



I look into the deepest eyes, 

But turn away and siirh; 
For there are none where solace lies 

For love that passed me by. 

I seek oblivion in the wine, 

And dissipation's snare. 
But see the lights of memory shine. 
And know slie still is there! 

I lonjr to liave this madness roll 

With all its sin away; 
But chaos r MpT'is within my soul. 

I know not how to pray. 

Ah. June! I'm powerless to forget, 

N<ir would I if I could; 
God's hand may touch my spirit yet, 
A net teacli me to be good! 

They say He chastens for the best, 

But what was there to win 
Bv driving virtue from my breast, 

And filling it with sinV 

Yet June, to read your eyes once more 
And find there trust and love. 

Might even now my faith restore 
In peace and rest above. 

For when in dreams they meet my own. 

Humid with sympathy, 
I wake forgetting all is flown 

Till memory maddens me. 

God grant ns each the power to hold, 

And treasure what he hath; 
For there are hopes when once grown col 

That know no aftermath. 



X.OVES YOUNG DEEABflL 37 



LOVERS yoUNg dream 



*'There's nothiKg- halfso s-weet in life 
As love's young- dream" 

Thomas Moore 

What caused the sun that summer day 
To shine with sncli ti glni-inus ray? 
Why did the flowers beneath my feet 
<Jii thai day biooni so much more sweet? 
Why did the birds their music pour 
In waiblirio-s never heard before? 
And what should make the sky so fair. 
And g-ive all Nature hues so rare? 

I knew not — neillier know I now 

What lured tliat slieen to Nature's brow 

I only Knew tliat voa were there, 

An(i why should not the earth be fair? 

I only knew that on my ear 

Fell words lilve musie, soft and clear, 

That o'er me east a magic spell. 

And caused my heart with J03- to swell 

Yon wondered why I turned my head 

At every tender word yo'.i said. 

You jruessed not 'iwas to hide the o-Jow 

Th it flu-ilie 1 inv cheek; — h )w should you km v 

That love was fUling- every vein 

With such a throb of bliss, yet pain, 

It seemed no huinan heart could hold 

That burst of rapLure-wild, untold. 



38 LOVE'S Y'OUN'G DREAM. 



I know not then what made my heart 
Stir in my breast with tliat gflad start; 
Nor why your lightest touch should fill 
IMy bosom with that subtle thrill; 
I only knew that you were near 
And fast became to me so dear 
That every tendril of my soul 
Was twined around you, past control. 

liow tteeting- did that morninn- seem! 

J aslced myself "Is this a di'eani? 

Jf so, and all must shortly break, 

] pray tliat 1 may ne'er awake; 

]int still sleep on, and on, and on. 

Till inonths have fled and years are g^one 

Aad anpr.jis eom ; to waken me, 

And call me U) eternity." 

And when the sua gave up his place 
And yielded to the paler face, 
When stars beg'an to dot the sky. 
E'en then Earth's beauty did not die; 
Tlie moon liad never seemed so Hffht, 
The stars had never shone so brigrht; 
The balmy air was ne'er so sweet, 
The summer evening was complete. 

And wiien you told me of your' love, 
I tliought the angels there above 
Must loolf in envy on our bliss. 
And long to leave their world for this! 
I trembled, — could not meet your gaze. 
And showed in many teil-tale ways. 
How gazing in your deep brown eyes 
I'd found my earthly Paradise. 

And thus I dream, and pray to sleep 

P'orever on, if that would keep 

This flame alive within my breast 

With which the gods my fate have blessed, 



FOR THEE. 39 



^ know not now that life is drear, 
I know no grief, no doubt, no fear; 
I only know that mj skies shine; 
I only iinow that you are mine. 

(1895.) 



FOR THEE. 

I live for ihee! yet 'twas not long- ag"o 
'i hat I bemoaned a lovt- so cold and dead, 
Melhou^ht no earthly voice could stir its bed, 
i\nd ciiil lolife the slain. IJut now i know 
That wiien 1 looked into thy deep brown eye 
T.hat love awoke as if ivom sleep, and 1 
Was foii-ed lo own Lhee then iny kiiifi;' to be — 
1 live for lhee! 

I sing for tlu-e! Yes, 1, wio knew no sonpf 
iJeneath thy sway have learned to trill a n-ote 
Far sweeter to my »oul than man e'er wrote 
With pen. INly love has gro^vn so lierce, so slr.jii^ 
That over hi;art and voice I've no control, 
i5at the rich music that now lioods my soul 
Hursts from my lips in words in spite of me, — 
1 sing lor tliee. 

1 long for thee! Yes, dearest, when thou go 
Away, tlie bright sun seems to ceasi* to shine. 
And It^iive my soul in daikness to repine 
Thine absence. Mo contentment do 1 know 
•Save in tliy presence. Nothing Skvcjot, no rest 
Comes in to make more calm my troubled breast 
Unlii thou once more dost return to me. 
I long for theel 



4(j YOTT AND T. 



I weep for thee! For when I sea tliee sad, 
And know that trials seem to rend thy soul 
A flood of sadness o'er my heart does roll 
And not e'en thou, my love, canst make me glad, 
Until the g-rief has passed from thee away 
And smiles appear — those smiles that make my day. 
While thou art sad, do joy can come to m'^. 
I weep for thee! 

I pray for thee! When nij^ht lier mantle spreads. 
Around us, and calls weary .^ouls to re-.t 
And thoughts of God's great vvatcli-care fill eacli breast 
I look to Him wlio watches o'er our heads. 
And wiih a yearning that I cannot tell, 
1 pray to Him that all may yet be well. 
And that o'er thee and thine He e'er m ly see, 
I pray for ihee! 

I'd die for thee! If I could smooth one care 
From thy dear heart bj' giving up my life. 
How willingly I'd do ii! Care and strife 
No more should vex thee. Sinshovild ne'er 
Across thy pathway lurk. My heart's best blood 
Poured at thy feet in one unceasing flood 
Were all too poor a gift to come from me. 
I'd die for thee! 

YOU AND I. 

Midst a February snow. 

When the moon forgot her glow. 

And one lonel3' star was set 

In the sky: 
When the world seemed very drear, 
And no brightness lingered near — 
Then it was that first we met, 
You and I. 



YOU AND I. 41 



Ah! how soon thai sad old earth 
In our bosoms had new birth 
And began to grow so bright 

And so fair! 
How for me the old sky shone 
That had seemed so bleak and lone; 
E'en the darkness of the night 

Was not there. 

We were learning to repeat 
That "old story," still so sweet, 
And we told it every day, 

O'er and o'er; 
Life had no tejnplations then 
As beset the paths of men; 
All was glorious and gay 

Evermore! 

iSwift the happy months went by. 
Months of blue and cloudless sky. 
Till at last a shadow fell 

On each heart: 
Liife no more could be so bright. 
Change had come our joys to blight. 
And the soul of each knew well. 

We must part. 

ijo we went our ways alone. 
Making no complaint or moan. 
Though the once bright days became 

Jtlack as night; 
I\ot a pleasure came to bless. 
Although neither would confess 
That the world was not the same. 

Gay and bright. 

lint there came a change to you. 
And the heart I tliovight so true, 
Ceased awhile to cry aloud, 
Or to sigh; 



42 YOU AND I. 



All but they who knew you best, 
Thou^^ht your heai't once more at rest, 
For iit anotlier'o feet you bowed, 
Yon — not I . 

Do not tliinic that I condenan, 
You did not mislead ine tliea, 
An(i 'iwas pity that I felt 

More llian blaine: 
Y'ou were striving to forpfet 
What no man has conquered yel; — 
Could you find the place 3'ou knelt, 

Quite the saniu? 

Ail! I knew it could mil last; 
In ihe li<iht of all the past, 
Notiiint^ uonld your r^larving' soui 

Satisfy; 
There were ehor Is within your heart 
That no touch save muie c )iilil start, 
Youcouid never be heart- \vhole. 

Nor could I. 

I remember how you came 
With the autumn, to reclaim 
All the past that we had lain 

In its i^rave; 
But in ashes tliere it la3^ 
And no word your lips could say, 
Could one hoiir our hands h id slain 

Ever save. 

Vainly theu yovir accents plead, 
Vain vvas every word you said, 
Why recall to life a flame 

I}orn to die? 
Love could never more be dejp 
That bad known so long a sleep, 
Y'ou might find it still the sarae, 

15ul not I. 



YOT7 AND I- 43 



Then you said, *'Not thus it ends; 
Sn rely we may yet be friends!" 
JJiit we knew it was not true, 

Eye to eye; 
Friendship's tie could never be 
As n bond for you acid me; 
Never, dear, "while yon are yo^* 
And I ain 13" 

Looking- backward thro^ tlie years. 
Even now I see your tears. 
Even yet 1 liear your voice 

Witii its pain: 
IJnt I trust that boyish g^rief, 
Found ere lontr a sure relief. 
And the heart learned to rejoice. 

Calm ajfain. 

Jt was hard to bear it tlien, 

llin-d tf) stifle all the pain 

That seemed sliatttTincr my heart 

At a blow; 
Life was empty for awhile, 
liut — well, see. dear, I can smile; 
Ah! forofotten was the smart 

LonjT agT», 

Sweetest p«.ic€ has cimi to me, 
.Inys I never hoped to see. 
And my life is better now 

L'or that pain; 
liut sometimes a deep rejrret. 
Stirs my inmost spirit yet. 
For a loye that I can know 

Ne'er again. 

lUit I do not ^rit've — tis best; 
For the love our youtli confessed, 
Tlioug-h it ne'er mav be forgot. 
Could but ilie: 



44, FORGET ME. 



And tho'vve shall meet no more, 
(rod has better thing's in store; 
We shall find a happier lot. 
You and I, 



(1S9(J.) 



FORGET ME. 

AN ACROSTIC. 

ForfTfit me! Seek not lo recall 
One tender thonffht of me; 
Remember not one happy hour 
God willed that we should see 
Even ray face and form forg-et, 
'Twill be far batter po. 
My life is severed far from thine. 
Each day this trutii I know. 

Forg-et me! Yet think ntjt that I 
One heart throb can forcret. 
Remembrance will not down at will- 
God knows that livinff v<?t, 
Enshrined within my heart's deep core, 
True, faitiifnl as of old. 
Memory still holds thine imaire dear. 
E'en though the heart be cold. 
(189G.) 



ONE WOMAN'S LAST WOUD- 45 



ONE ^VOMAN'S LAST WORO- 

.\. ust we part. 

Dear heart? 
M ii>t we part? 

Yes, those dreams of bliss were vain. 
And our joy was born of pain. 
We were conscious at tlie start 
That it Hiust not be, 
Rear heart] 

^Ve must part. 

Dear hearth 
^Ve must part! 

]''ar from yours my path wav lies. 
And the witcliery of your eyes, 
A! ust no more my fancy start 
Prom its true abode^ 
Dear heart! 

Tiiere's a smart. 

Dear heartJ 
liiere's a smart! 

Children who with fire will play. 
Can bat bear a wound away. 
And the poison of that dart 
Left its sting- behind. 
Dear heart! 

Where's the art. 

Dear heart! 
Where's the art? 

That can make of wrong a rig-ht. 
Or •can soften to the sight 
Pain we carelessly impart 
To a trusting soul. 
Dear heart? 



46 ONE WOMAN'S LAST WORD. 



Now to part. 

Dear lipart! 
Now to part! 

Better far we ne'er had met 
Than to know this hoiu-'s rej^fret. 
Ah! I g-ave a sing'le heart 

Till you crossed my way. 
Dear heart! 

On the start. 

Dear heart. 
On tlie start. 

Would that I had bid yon <ro. 
Ere I learned to love you so. 
Better tear my soul apart 
Than to find it false. 
Dear heart! 

Let us part. 

Dear heart! 
Let u.T part! 

Oh, I must forg-et you, dear! 
Duty marks our pathways clear, 
And she lays them far apart, 
For 'tis better so, 
Dear heart! 

When we part. 

Dear heart. 
When we part, 

I willsutTer, and I should. 
That one thoupfht of you intrude, 
Bat a scar alone will marlc 

Where the wound was made. 
Dear heart! 

Then we part , 

Dear heart, 
Then we part. 



A WORD OF THANKS. 47 



Could our joy atone to me 
For another's misery. 
If my hand had crushed his heart 
For the love of you, 
Dear lieart? 

Nay — we part, 
Dear henrt! 
Yes, we part. 

True, it was a cliiidish vow; 
But it binds as closely now. 
And shall not be torn apart 
Thous^h it wreck my life^ 
Dear hearlJ 

So — we part, 

Dear heart; 
Now,— depart. 

Future days look dark to-nig-ht, 
lint God always shields the ripfht. 
And we— ah, theUear drops start 
While I say "jjood-bye," 
Dear linear t J 
(1897.) 

A WORD OF TriAHKS. 

For thous'hts and feeUnjvs yet unfathomed 

For motives not quite understood; 
For flifrhts of thought and secret fancies 

I would not picture if 1 could; 
For all the honest avpiralions 

That elaiin disaster as their fate; 
For all tiie prayers and the ambitions 

That alwavs seem to come too late; 
For sill for whic'i my soul is yearninp, 

AjkI I hat my pen could never trace; 
For all liuit 1 ''f)uld be and would be 

In an\' other time and place; 



48 A WORD OF THANK3. 



For all tlie g-ood I've ever thoug'ht of; 

For all the past that's dead to daj'; 
For all the present— all the future 

I Ihaiik you, dearest, far away. 

Yes, I tliank you — thoug-h I could not. 

Dear, if you were here tod ly; 
For the sweet words you had welcomed 

Always were so hard to say! 
Eut for every inspiration, 

Every impulse, sweet and true. 
Every triumph, I am g-rateful, 

For I trace them all to you. 

Once I felt that life was worthless 

If it were not shared by you; 
Now I know you still are moulding' 

As no other's hand could do, 
Strang'e, thoufrh time and space divide us. 

That you still should have a pari, 
And Siiould yet, throuqfh slippery by w.iys. 

Guide tlie working's of ray heart. 

Had you proved to be less worthy. 

Had you shattered my ideal — 
All the world would now be hollow, 

Ail its troodness seem unreal; 
But I did not find you wanting, 

And I thank you that I can, 
Thoug"h the long- gray years of shadow, 

Still have faith in (lod and man. 

Not a single bitter feeling 

Enters in my thou'j|-lit of you 
Fate apportioned us our measure 

Better far tliao, vvi» could d'>. 
Where you are, I know nor care not 

For I feel jov. always near; 
Think — would Earth hold hopo of Heaven 

If she gave us Heaven hire? 

(March 1897) 



THE KA.TY-DID- 49 



TllE KATY-I)I0. 

"Katy-did! — Katy did!" 
Yes, I hear you, little one, 
In your leafy bower hid 
Crying' out what Kate has don^e. 
Tell me, little Kaly-did, 

What the awful sin can be, 
That you always keep repeating 
As the -soft twiliirht is fleeting, 
From your nook in yonder tree.' 

"Katy-didJ — Katy-didJ" 
You would tell me if you could 

How sweet Katy came with others 
I^utting to the ha^el wood; 
How she softly stole away, 
Leaning on a mani}' arm; 
Vowing low deathless devotion 
Love as deep as is the ocean 
If lie'd ^^hfclter her from harm. 

You would tell me all you -saw 

From your little hiding place. 
Tell me of each tender kiss 

Pressed upon that fair young face; 
You wuuUl chirp it in my ear, 

How she promised she would be 
Faithful till the last, and never 
Thouf^h the Heavens fall, would sever 
Those deep vows of constancy 



50 THE KATY DID. 



"Katy-did! Katy-did!"' 
Yes. I know what you would tell; 

How, when scarce a year had fled, 
Once more Katy paced the dell. 
How again you took a peep, 
And another's arm was pressed 

Close around that waist so slender 
And his voice was low and tender 
As he drew her to his breast. 



You would tell me how she vowed 

To another to be true, 
"With no thought of him who sailed 
Far across the ocean blue. 

Through the day and ia liis sleep. 
Dreaming of the maiden there 
Thinking still that she must love him 
Truly ae the sUy above him, 
Deeming her as true as fair. 



"Katy-did: Katy-did!" 
Yes, I know she did, my dear; 

r>ut there are things done and said 
That you should not see and hear 
And although it seemed unkind, 

You shot;ld not fair Katy blame! 
What if she should prove false-hearted 
To the one from whom she parted, 
Other Kates have done the same! 



You would tell, you sly eavesdropper. 

How the birds one morning sang, — 
How old Sol looked down through smiling 

While the church bell gaily rang. 
How. securely hidden there. 



THE KATY-DID. SI 



You liad watched fiiir Iv!itVf,''o 
(While tlie skies were blue til ove lic») 
On the firm of this new lover, 

Ue;irt imd hand Id tiieie besuvv. 

"Katy-did! Katy-did!" 
Yes — I've lieard the tale befmc: 

'Tis as old as are the mountains 
Yet they tell it o'er and o'er; 

And methinUs they always will 

While the earth shall 3'et remain. 
If two men and one fair woman. 
Who are altogether human 

Shall their life and breath retain. 

You would tell me how the months 

In their <Tladness sped away. 
Till anothei- shadow fell 
On a dark and dismal day. 

When you watched a spot below. 
Where a noble sailor lad, 
Kneels within the waving- trrtisses, 
And in bitterest anguish passes 

All the night — while there in ashes 
Lies the peifect trust he had, 

"Katy-did! Kiity-did!" 
Keep youi- counsel, little one; 

I can guess what you would say, 
Oiirls such deeds have always done. 
It is not, sweet Katy-did, 
Woman-nature to be true: 
Always faithless, btit so charming. 
We forgive them all the harming 
For "tlie^' Know ni.t what they do." 



52 CONDEMNED. 



CONDEMNED. 

He was fresh from a ho?ne and a fond in )th?r's cir^j, 
And the ideal he cherislied was all fiat was f.iir; 
He deemed that t.he vvlmle nice of women was true 
IJecanse of the pnr > lovinjr mother he l<:iew. 
Yes, — "'only m boy" — -and the easiest prey 
]?y one of your c'lann^ to be ixm led astr.ij'. 
Pol- he tooic evei'y r;i visLiiiy smile that was g-iven 
To be a divine revelation frtjin Heaven. 

Small wonder that he with his dreams, pnre and brijrht, 
Should think you were really an an^el of lijrht. 
And be ready to swear atone p^lance from your eyes 
That you were the queen of the stars in dispj-uise! 
How should he with no insio-lit at all in the frame, 
Be able to keep his young- heart from the fiime, 
Or how, when he siw that the casket - as rare, 
Should he g-uess that the jewel was only a snare" 

There were others, who inipht be your toy for an hour 

And be none the woj-se for the test of your power; 

Thei-e were mim of the world who would come at your cla m 

And play, tit for tat, every card in your g-arae. 

Where then was the triumpli to ruin that life 

So free from all guile when it entered the strife? 

Did it better y-)ur life that the gauntlet he ran 

T'hal shattered forever his trusting- in man? 

Somewhere in the- world there is wiiting- to-day 
A heart that had loved him forever and aye. 
That had entered his life and new ardor instilled. 
Till the promise of youth had been grandly fulfilled: 



THE END OF THE PLAY, 53 



l?ul beeiinse of your smilinj,', he never will see, 
How Tioble a factor a woman my be, 
But will live all liis (iay.s wiln the look in his eye 
Of cue whoinllu! beauty of life has passed by. 

To be sure, it is foolish — ^but men often are — 
And a wound of this kind is more fatal by far 
When it comes to one early who seeks only ffood. 
And lie finds out how false is the light that he viewed. 
It is natural you know, if we find as we pass 
What vve think is a gena, but we find to be glass, 
Tliat we pass by the real, which we see by the way, 
And measure its worth by the one tVirown away. 

True, — the wound may be healed— did you hope it still bledV 
JUit the poison is there tliouj^h the pain may be dead. 
And oft in the night, thonyli tiit! heart seomelh cold. 
The s-.'.ar that's ron iinin.f m ly ache as of old, 
O count up your "conquests" and gloat o'er the past. 
But a just retribution will find you at last. 
And the' waves of a conscience awakened yet roll 
For the demons of hell vou unchained in t'aat soul. 



TllE ENI) CF THE PLAY 

Our drama has an end at last. 
The climax hastens on us fast. 
And soon the last act will be past, 

And we away; 
'Tis growing hard to act our part. 
And hide the bittorn.?ss of heart 
That triumphs over every art 

Within the play! » 



54 THE END OF THE PLAY. 



Too lat^ we learn not to a'^pire 

To parts whose lines are full of fire! 

[ mio-ht have jifiiessed ihntyon would tirj 

Of all some day; 
We were but children and forn-ot 
To leave the passion from the plot, 
And changed the course of all our lot 

By this one play. 

The world looked on, as worldlings mu^t, 
And laugrhed to see our ciiildish trust: 
They knew it all must turn lo dust 

With youth's decay; 
They smiled, and called it coinedy 
Who were too shoi-t of sight to see 
The bitter lines of tragedy 

Throiaghout the play! 

It vvas our first appearance there. 

Behind the footlight's dazzling glare; 
The stage to us appeared as fair 

And bright as May; 
We played the lead and played it well, 
While not a whisper carae to tell 
That something soon would break the speli 
And end the play! 

It was the same old plot that all . 
Can look back somewhere and recall — 
A love that held two hearts in thrall 

The same old way; 
A fair soubrette that came between, 
And changed the setting of the scene — 
That oft-told tale that long has been 
An old, old play! 

We've played it through, and stand apart; 
"The world applauds, the actors' art," 
But th's new pain that fills ray heart 
Has come to stay: 



THE END OF THE PLAY, 55 



You must ali-e itly liavj forofot 

Tile lines of passKjii in the plot; 

What matters it if I have not? 

T^vas bat a play! 

1 wateli theiii putting out the light, 

And saiUy smile to see the sight; 

The whole thing seems a farce to-night 

With you away; 
Tln^ role was mockery, I sue 
Thiit promised so much bliss to me; 
How Could I know that it might be 

A bitter play? 

]\Iy heirt is sinking at the thought 

Of ail the happiness I sought 

Tiiat fivded there mid left me naught 

15ut pain lo-dav; 
I smiK'd and wore my inake-up well. 
Ami none of all tie ca it could tell 
What Imppcneu when the curtain fell 

After the play! 

I wonder, if you from the start 
Deliberately played this part. 
Or did I truly toaeh your heart 

Some far olE-day? 
Far better Cuaiige, as do the rest, 
Than coolly plan so cruel a jest 
On one who never flimly guessed. 

It was a play! 

You did not think that there might be 

A taste of sorrow there for me; 

It was but pastime — we were free. 

And it was Ma\! 
It was a love that lightly came 
And fl.ished up as a sudden fl imo: 
Why should it not depart the .same'^ — 

'Twas but a play! 



56 DIVIDED. 



J stand in silence at the winsrs 
And look my last on happier thinj^s. 
While every voice in Nature sing's 

Of blealf decay: 
Why was I not at Srst to know 
That all that joy must leave me so'' 
Why does my heart cry wildly, "Oli! 

Too long- the play!" 

(xod help mel I have foiind the role 

Too heavy for my self control; 

My voice must falter through the whole 

I try to say; 
The lines of p;itlios are too st'-onsr; 
Ring- down the curtain, near-'tis wiong' 
To seek one rnoment to pt-olong 

So cruel a play! 

The carcain falls^now p'ay yo'ir ptrt 
With someone older in the art. 
Or lightly win another heart 

T ) tlu'O'.v aw ly f 
And I? Ah, I shiU n'>t forg-^t. 
But in mv shiep with strange rcT-i-iJt 
Will drean) that we are acting yet 
That sweet old play! 



There are two wlio walk on eitlier jidc a streara- 

A river that so narrow doth appear, 
Their hands are clasped across it, and they seem 

To scarce remember it divides them here. 
A brilliant sun illumes a cloudless sky; 

The air is sweet, and birds are full of song; 
Sweet flowers bloom; the days flit gaily by; 

The stream between forgotten g-lid-^s alon"-. 



DIVIDED. 67 



he streamlet srradiially {Tfows widei" now, , 
Their clinging- hands, unconscious loose their hold; 
Their words are sweet, but hiug-hter comes more slow 

A cloud across the sun has dulled its gold. 
The bird-songs hold a sadder note to day; 

Unconsciously they sigh and know not why; 
Thpy« pause to pluck a roseb'id b3' the way — 

A hidded tiiorn culls fro^n the lips a cry. 

Their paths diverge a little d.iy by day; 

Now drng the days that lately were so dear; 
No lontjer liohl they converse by the way — 

Tiny can but hhout across the waters drear. 
The all- is heavy; all the flowers are dead; 

'IIk; birds are of ten silent now and stiii; 
'i"i f clouds hang thick and heavy overliead; 

A r.),irin;.r. wiiitrv wind is threatiiing ill. 



At 1 i-it tiinir p itlis have led si far away. 

I'll jy ai\;bey )nd all sound of strain in .;• v lic •: 
'I'liey cun but v^ ave their lontring liantls Wi-tlay 

1 n mute acknowled^'ement of old 1 >ve.'fc (_i'i-'i^*' 
Tiieir fves are tixed upon the form arro>. 
i nd straining evcy niu cle to discun 
'i In- \N ell-lcvt d i<a\ ni t-t-. loi. scions of their loss. 
And lonyiiig fur a hi,ip;iy past's return. 

Bat while tliey watch, the f.)rra has gon > from vie'v 
I'hey stretch their empty anus across tlie stream; 

Life's load is heavy but what can tlicy do 

When all that's left is memory's lu.iddenin,"' dre.ini! 

The birds are chirping— calling for a mate- 
All nature seems to join the bitter cry! 

Why murmur? 'Tis the chang.dess stream of Fate, 
And life and love forever nave p isstd b} ! 



aa MY KING. 



MY King. 

What is hi&king-dom? — One heart ami lifi!-' 
Who is hi& subject? — His "little wife!" 
What is liis scepter?— Love's mystic cliarms:! 
What his domiaioa? — Two loviuj?" ar.rt'v. 
What may his crowa b;? — Cove — ooly love. 
Whence cornea his power? — From One above. 
Where is the tlirone placed? Deep in one soul! 
What imeau&hi.s reiffnintj? Si'ipreine control. 

Seeks he new conquest? Nay — aU's complete! 
Ail of his world lies low at his feet. 
Fears he rebellioo?— How could it be? 
When love is ruling-, subjects are free. 
Wars in the distance bring' no alarms 
Sure of his shelter in those two arms; 
Smiles he as shadows 'round him may creep 
Leaughs when the storm-clouds over iiim sweep. 

But thou:»"h the subjjct bows to his sway, 
Siouldshg comma;! liim. he would obay! 
Love to V)e pirfeet, mast be complete — 
Often the kingr bows low at her feet. 
Hers then the scepter, hers, too, the crown. 
He, all to<^ orladly, bows humbly down. 
Ang'els in Heaven smile at the scene — 
Sometimes a subject — always his queen! 
(December, 1SU7.) 



SACRIFICE, 



69 



SACRIFICE. 

Is the road our feet must run 

Hy ihe mountain side? 
Does it lay where wind and sun, 

Thorns and stones abide? 
Take the shady path, dear one — 

I'll be g'lad outside. 

Is tlie dwelling- we must see 

Dark and black as niyht? 
Mever mind, — one spot will be 

Clear and almost brig-lit; 
Let the clouds envelop me — 

You must have the ligfht. 

What! your eyes must droop with shame 

For a sin you see? 
Men, you say, will curse your name? 

Nay, it shall not be! 
Mine alone shall be the blarae, 

You must yet be free! 

Do you say that rain and hettt, 

Worked their punishment. 
That to us the bread and meat 

Spariri g-ly were sent? 
Let me hunger, — you must eat 
I shall be content. 



60 A SONG OF FAME. 



Do not say, '•Too great, the price! 

Love would be but vain, 
Were it worth no s.ieriljce 

For another's pain. 
Every loss for y(ju I piiz3 

As the truest g-uin. 

Doth tlie evil da^' draw nio-li 
One death lionr declared? 

Tremble not, my love; tis I 
All your sorrow shared. 

And a Ihousiiml deaths I'd die 
That your life be spared. 

Must one soul for earthly siu 

All atonement uialce? 
Then God grant I enter in 

Fearless for your sake; 
Dearest, Heaven you m.ist win 

Though my heart should break. 
(1901.) 



A SONG OF FAME. 

What do I care for tlie world, dear? 

Let it go carelessly on! 
I have my share of the world here — 

All else begone! 

What is its glory to me, dear? 

All my desires are so few- 
Just the two babe§ by my knee, here 

Tliey, love, and you! 



Once 1 was striving for glory — 

Gloiy was not to be won! 
Now all those longings pass o'er me, 
And they are gone! 



A SONG OF FAMIS. Gl 



Fame i> tl;o <^o;\\ of so many. 
But she iibiclttth with i'l-w: 
If 1 iiin famous to any. 
Let it be J'oii! 

That is the fflory for ine, dear, 
Just to be preat in the eyes 

Of the dear faces I see here 
Where I most prize! 

8corn for the world as ag'iverl 
Her g-ifts are but for a day; 

Mine be the frlory that never 
IvMOweth decay! 

Miiy tlie two souls God hath given 
Ever be kept from a stain! 

If I but lead them toward Heiiven, 
Tlial be my gain! 

That tiie career then I covet. 
Just in my home to be dear, 

That they more truly may love It 
When I am near! 

Tliat be the work that I live for — 
Moulding those natures aright; 

What is there then I would give for 
Glory less bright? 

80 let the world and its treasure 

Pass to its music along! 
I sliall be blessed beyond measure 

By one sweet song. 

Just one, dear love, if you give it — 
None else were sweet to my ear! 

Mine be your life as you live it — 
What else were dear? 



62 NOT DEAD. 



Whiit do I care for the worlii, )j ir/ 

Let it g-o ciarelessly on! 
I have mj' share of the world here — 

Ail else bej^rone! 

(lyoi.) 

JSlOT DEAF). 

It is not dead— I thougiit it buried deep — 

That bitter, bitter pain that crashed my he irt; 
But oil! I see its life did not depart, 

Bill otily for the time, was lulled to sleep, 
'I'liat I mi^ht just forfjjet, for tjiie short hour 
Tlie deadly grief that held me in its power — 

(Jiief lor a happy love-dream loncir since fljd! 
It is not dead! 

It is not dead! thoajrh otiiei-s still may think 
Because the wound is hidden from their gaze 
Tiiat life flows onward as in olden days 

Before my spirit had been taught to drink • 
The cap of gall. They do not see the tears 
That dimmed my eyi^> within the earlier years, 

For I havj le.irned to force a smile instead, 
Though 'tis not dea 1! 

It is not dead! Sometimes I lay rough hands 
Upon it, ti'ving oh so hard to kill 
The faithful thing! but it is living still, 

And will not die at any one's commands 

Save His who sent it. Wrestling makes it strong, 
And when I've straggled with it hard and long, 

I've found it has with a new strength been fed: 
Nay 'tis not dead! 

It is not dead! sometimes 1 think it so, 

And really, feel half j lyoas and 'most gay: 
But ah! some little word a friend may say 

Forgot as soon as uttered, makes me know 



EARTH'S EDEN. 63 



It was not dead! — it leaps to life again 
And overwhelms me. Oh! I cannot pen 
How rank the poison from ihat arrow sped, 
For 'tis not deadl 

It is not dead! but pride conceals it deep. 

Where even none who know me best could g^uess 
How full mj poor heart is of bitterness. 

That, spile of all my strug-gles. will not keep 
In my control. Oh, could I but forget 
The love that I have never conquered yet, 

This grief would die, for pain to love is wed; 
But 'tis not dead. 

It is not dead! and oh, it will not die 
IXnlii I pass from this sad earth away; 
And tiiere. in mansions of eternal day. 

Where love is true, and none must say "good-bye" 
I know at last the pain that fills my soul 
Will from my over- burdened spirit roll. 

And I may know it has foiever fled. 
When I iira dead! 



EARTH'S EDEN- 

To Mr. ani Mrs. E L Wemple on the 
43d anniversary of their marriage 

Friends, they tell rae time has beaten 
One more measure from life's strain. 

And tonight, all jarring discords 
Blend in harmony again. 

Forty years! ah; oft the minor 
Must have dulled the melody. 

Till the tones again were mingled 
Into perfect harmony! 



64 EARTH'S EDEN. 



There's a time in every life-time 

When no thoug-ht of earth is known; 
When the world becomes an Eden, 

Formed for two, and two alone. 
(Jod was kind — He took the Garden 

]5ut He left our hearts the bliss 
That we mi^-'ht in love's first dawninpf 

Make another out of this. 

True, that dream is brief! yet wakinpr 

Does not always bring us pain! 
Earth is sweeter; life is never 

Quite the same to us aj^aiii 
Evei'y joy seems sent from Heaven 

Ju-it to form the bond anew. 
Every sorrow seems a bles^^ing 

As it firmer knits the two. 

Time and chanfi"e cannot dissolve it, 

It arrows slronorer with each breath. 
And will hold throug'h storm and shadow 

Even be3'ond the gales of death; 
And at times though years have dimmed "\^ 

The old vision comes again, 
A nd the world once more is Eden 

When the two alone remain. 

Forty years! 'tis sweet to ponder 
O'er the past, its joy and pain; 

Both alike appear so trivial 
Now the heart is calm again. 

Even hopes that dis.i pointed, 
All the half-forgotten fears, 

Seem so small to look upon them 
In the light of added years. 

There's not much that I can wish you 

God is good and wise indeed! 
He who led you thus far safely 

Will not fail j'ou in your need. 



A WOMAN'S ANSWER. «5 



I'^orty-lhree lonir years hiivj faded, 
Yet Ihoir sacred suenes are bright, 

And the Eden of your visioa 
Must seem very near to-nifi^lit. 

May the love that years have strengthened 

Lead you onward, hand in hand, 
(irowiiijf deeper at the entrance 

Of that brighter, better land, 
Where in Heaven's celestial beauty. 

Yon, with youth renewed, may know 
All the glories of that Eden 

You but tasted here below. 
(Jan. 17, 1901.) 



A WOMAN'S ANSVVER. 

You come to me with burning tone, 
Y'our true soul shining in your eyes 

You seek to claim me for your own 

To live for you, and you alone 
Till all that's mortal in us dies. 

You tell me that your heart is mine — 

You did not need to tell me so, 
For I had long learned to divine 
The tale your eyes had flashed to mine: 
We women can be wise, you know! 

You say you ever will be true — 

I did not ask so trite a vow: 
I find no faithlessness in you, 
And I have read you through and through 

Your soul stands bare before me now 

You say you have a buried past. 

You can't uncover even yet — 
Ah! let it lie, secure and fast, 
It shall be yours until the last; 

I do not ask that you forget! 



66 A WOMAN'S ANSWER. 



Yon are not young- — no more am I, 
And we h.ave seen our share of life: 

Let all j'onr past in ashes lie! 

Why should you rake it over? VVhj-? 
I should not be a better wife! 

Man's love is but a passing" tianie, — 

Niiy! — no protestinu'! it is true; 
Although I say it not in blame, 
i^or seek to put your words to .-liame, 
For I was thinkiug not of yoii. 

Yet I repeat, — the loves of man 

May come and go, and "ora*^ again. 
And when tlieir force is spent, he can 
Still work and worry, think and piati 
At most they were but pas -ing- p lin — 

Not so with ns — a worn m's love 

Is all th;^ life she c ii'es to k'low: 
It msans so much men wot not of, 
I t holds her hopes in God above. 

And keeps her faith in man below. 

Why do I speak of this, you say? 

Ah! now you touch the hardest part 
JJi'fore I tell you Yea or Nay, 
There is a past I'vi; locked avva._>'. 

That mast be.drivun fi'oui my heart. 

You soy "Still keep it from onr sight!" 

You are so kind, bat I mast say 
The words that force themselves to-night 
Lest they should rise in all their might 
To come between our souls some day. 

You must Itnow all I can bestow, 
Anti all the power at my command; 

Then when my little worth you know, 

If you should still desire it so, 
I'll freely give to yon my hand. 



A WOMAN'S ANSWER. 67 



For I can f^ive a liand that's pure, 
Ami I'l-ee fr )in >taiii in every p irt; 

A paltry prizi that to allure, 

Wlieu it is all I can assure, 

For oil, my friend, I have no heart! 

I can be to you comrade. — fiiend, — 

Sii«h you might seek the whole world o'er 

And as yo.if wil'j yoa mi^ut depend 

On me as faithfnl to the end — 
But ah! I can be little more! 

There was a time — lonfj-, lonp: ago — 

80 long it seems another life 
When I haa not this heart of snow 
Where flesh and blood are needed so — 

1 then had made a better wife. 

I loved with all a girl's first love, 

And idealized, as maidens can; 
There were no heights [ dreamed not of 
There was no hint of clou I ab ivj — 

I only saw and heard the man! 

They tcld me th it I h id mlsplacj 1 

My trust, ana blindly was deceived; 
I laughed — their words were thrown to waste 
And all their fears with scorn I faced; 
There was but one that I believed! 

Twas long— so long — 1 know not how 
That he himself revealed the truth; 

That anguish! oh, I feel it now 

When I was forced at last to bc:w 
Above the dead ideal of youth! 

Thank God 1 learned the truth at last, 

Before eternally too late; 

Else all the memories of the past. 
Had choked the breath of life so fast 

That I had died of scorn and hate! 



68 A WOMAN'S ANSWER. 



For loDo-, Ion? months, the days are blank. 

Thank God, ['m powerless to recall 
That awful time when first I sank 
Into the depths of woe and shrank 
FronQ pitiless memories of it all I 

1 g'radnally came back t--) see 

There was a life that 1 must live: 

But a new self awoke in me, 

.j^ self that (io(i meant not to be, 

VVtio had not learneJ thd word '■forgive." 

The childish faith in all I knew 

Was shatiei'ed to return no rn )re; 
I'd trusted all, and when he slew 
Tnat trust, I douDied e'en ihe few 
Who were so dear ti> m>.; before. 

For years I lanj^hed iit love and trutli 
I worked and aimed at highest art; 

All tenderness had fled with yontli, 

I doubted even goii's own trnih 

And bitterest ranoor filled my heart' 

And for the one who worked toy woe. 

Words cannot voice my scorn and hate 
Old love make strongest hate, you kncjw. 
And he had stroili so ccu-il a inow, 
It crnshed to death my trust in fate, 

1 wonder at that madness now, 

For calm and qu'et came again, 
With trust in (iod — I linow not how 
lie touched my heart-, but this I know. 
He gave me peace instead of pain! 

A peace of sou', but never rest, 

A calm, but never a content!^ 
The storm was driven from my breast. 
Hut in its stead was born a zest 

For glory's bright embellishment. 



A WOMAN'S ANSWER. 69 



II n* lanrols c una with their renown 
Yet ihey could only do their part;' 
They iu a way replaced the crown 
My love had ruthlessly torn dovvu — 
They cuuid not ^ive me back my heart. 

I've learned that love, though it is best 

Of life — if true — is not the wliole! 
I've put my nature to the test, 
Tlioufifh but a woman like the rest, 
And man could seek no higher goal! 

It is not all of life, indeed 

To sink one's nature iu a man's. 

Love often calls the heart to bleed, 

And my career has iinown no need, 

Save iu purfecLing nobler plans. 

When first you came into my life, 

1 liad not learned man can be true 
My soul was yet in doubt's dark strife, 
And over-flowdd with broodings rife, 
Until you taught me trust in you. 

It was so new then to depend 

Upon a human frame once more, 
Tiiat I was glad to call you friend, 
Without one inkling of the end, 
Until your face its secret wore. 

Since then I've loved to watch tlie play 

Upon your features at a word; 
O call me cruel if ynu may, 
But it was new life day by diiy, 

To learn that trust so long deferred. 

Friend, 1 am weary — all the pain 

That fought to death my woman, s heart 
Is dead, -but tc.il and hope remain 
For there are higher heights to gain. 
And I have lived alone for art. 



70 A WOMAN'S AN3WEB. 



This is the end--if jon would take 

So cold a heart into j^our life, 
Wiih God's iielp I will pull the stake 
And all my vviioie life loQjf will mike 

To you a true aod faithful wife'. 

The ambitions that led me on 

For all these years, and knew no end 

S lall not by any means be gone 

lint live as tiriniy for tiie one 
Who blends the husband in the friend. 

All my ! espeet is yours 1t>(iay 

And faiih is b>rn aj^amr^L my will; 
Thi-(jii:fh unbelief you fouofhi your way. 
And fchouyh my ihanUs no word^ can say. 
My heart lias yet no aiisweiing thriU 

You say your fire must melt the ^now, 

Uniil the love that died in me 
Shall rise from out tiie past to know 
Ao"ain the power of ionf^' ago;— 

I, doubting', smi.e— yet it may be! 

Ifyinee all my W(jma.n"s pjwer bej^an 
To briofj its consciousness at last, 

Ive gloried there, and never can 

liow to supremacy in man; 
I yet am an iconoclast L 

Rut there are tho«g-ht8 we both may think. 
And there are hopes we both may hold; 

My saul may never learn to sink 

Itself in yours, V)ut on the brink 
May hoTer till it grows less cold. 

I owe you all my life holds dear; 

It is not very much, 'tis true I 
But no one else could come so near. 
And br.akdowo all the b.irriers here! 
I shall be all I can to youl 



THE OAKEN RULER. '. i 



Are you eonlent" ^o be it then! 

I'm weary of the ^orld, and you 
Shall hold me from the haunts of men 
Until some spark may wake again 

A little warmth to yet renew. 

You stake so much, — j-our faith is great 
(Jod grant you all your wish in me: 

All I desire ii to control 

The aspirations of j'our soul 

Till all you long for, you may be. 

]My past is yours — I give ray hand, 

And you shall teach me to forget! 
1 worked and couquered all I planned 
Yet somehow failed to understand 
The artist was a woman yet! 



THE OLF) OAREN RULER. 

A little after Wordswortii. 

Flo V dear to ray heart ar>! the scenes of my school-days, 

When loving remembrance brings them to my view! 
The play-t.'round, the well, and the cold, cheerless lunch-room 

And every loved spot that in school days I knew 
The glossy old blackboard, the duster near by it, 

The waste-paper basket, the platform, and all; 
The desk of the teacher, the old arm-chair nigh ii, 

And e'en the old ruler that hung on the wall. 
The old, oaken ruler, the long, well-worn ruler, 
The much-dreaded ruler that hung on the wall! 

That old oaken-ruler I hailed as a nuisance, 

For often of yore when some trick I had played, 

I found it the source of on unloved sensation, , 

The keenest and shai'pest that e'er ruler made. 

How sadly I eyed it with eyes that were weeping 



72 LIFE'S SCKCOL. 



As quick to my liaad it would lieavily fall! 
Then when I was ttiought quite sufficiently punished. 

That inuch-dreaded ruler returned to the wall. 
The old oaken I'liler, the long-, well-worn ruler 
The much-dreaded ruler returned to the wall. 

How reluctant my arm would reach out to receive it. 

As aimed at my hand it was poi.seii just o'erhead! 
N ot a blow it inflicted ivas yenllt? or tender, 

But eaeli stroke was frauarht with deep feeling- instead, 
And now, far away from the school of my chiKl-hi>o 1, 

A sigh of relief my past sul^"erillc^-^ will tell. 
A.s Fancy returns to the dear old iuieU scluji.l-iiovise. 

And shows nie the I'uler we all knew so well. 
The old oaken I'uler the e'er ready luler, 
'I'he liartl-workiii!'' rixier we all k:iew .so well. 



LIFE'S SCriOOI-. 

With apologies to Edgar Allen Poe. 

Once upon an evening dreary, 
I w:is wrest,! iu'^ Wdak and weary, 
Wnh some geometric problems 

I had ufcver seen before; 
Problems that all toil resisted. 
Though I ".Topingly insisted. 
And all mental powers enlisted 

As ] never had of yore; 
Jlut the problems all uni-avelled 

Lay there calmly as before; 
Only this, and nothing more I 

Quite distinctly I remember, 
Il"was in the chill November, 
Aiid 1 ^^a.'- a In. mble ireniler 

Of the Senior class of yore; 



LIFE'S SCHOOL. 



Eafjerly I wished the morrow, 
When I hopt-ci ihat, I mig'ht borrow 
Dein )nstjalioas frjma classmate 

Who ha I helped me oft before; 
Whi) had lomed me his assistance 

VVliea in swampy paths before; 
"Yes," I whispered, "just once more!" 

As I sat. some rule repeating". 
All .Tiy brain in madness beating, 
While my heart and throat were meeting 
And my wan eyes scanned the floor 
While I wearily sat gaping' 
Sud ienly I heard a tapping. 
And I knew som ^ one was rapping, 

Rappiny gently at the donr; 
"Oh!" I cried; "if some assistance 

Brings the stranger to my door. 
He is welcome, evermore!" 

In he ca ne on invitation; 

"Urtre" [ thought; "is my salvitioa; 

He will have the demonstration 

As he always has in store; 
For 'twas lie wiiose kind assistance 
Flelped me often in the distance, 
Tiiougli I half-feared more resist anee 

To my plea than heretofore 
And I shrank from it on seeing 

What a troubled brow he bore. 
And the wearied eyes he wore! 

Bat at last my soul grew stronger; 
Hesitating, then, no longer; 
'"Friend," said I to him, "most truly 

Your forgiveness I implore, 
But it is my one salvation 



73 



74 



LIFE'S SCHOOL, 



That I make this anplioation, 

So — hiive yon the demonstration." — 

Here \-e bent his head and sworf, 
"No, I came lo <fet assistanco 

on those problems, too," he sw jre 
•'Only this and nothing- more!" 

Now that every plank was falling", 
'J'tie to-morrow lo^dved appalling, 
And I sadly sat recalling 

How old vials of wrath did pour 
Could I face an angry teacher 
With a calm and unmoved feature. 
With those unsolved problems 

Staring in my face foreverrnore 
Staring wickedly and wildly 

In n\y face foreverrnore 

In tlie manner I deplore? 

Lnng I sat there, niidly yearnin,''. 
All ray soul within me burning, 
Longing, thinking thoughts no student 

Ever dared to think before. 
"•Oh! begone all dem )nstration! 
How I wish my e.'ucation 
And the hour of graduation 

Were a memory of the yore! 
How I long- to look back thinking 

They will bother me no more — 
Free from care, foreverrnore!" 

But the years in their rotation 
Finished High School education. 
And the longed-for graduation 

Is a thing to come no more; 
But I find I now am vexing 
Over problems as perplexing 
As the oues I on that evening 

Fought of geometric lore, 



A TALE OF THE KANARANZI. 75 



Just as stubborn iind uiitiexing . 
As of g-eoinetric lore 
Trouble me forevermore. 

Thu8, when seliool life is completed, 
When all lessons are repeated, 
And we are no lonju^'er seated 

In the el.isa room as before; 
Still, life's seliool is just before us, 
And it!> rule is quickly o'er u'^, 
And we look for f,Tuduation, 

But 'tis not till life is o'er; 
And our spirit, from its burden 

And its lessons, as (jf yore, 
Shall be lifted — nevermore! 



A TALE OF THE KANARANZI. 

Yes, that is the Kanaranzi — not so wonderful a 
river 
As you raiprht expect to find it, rather more a creek 
1 fancy; 
But it has its turbulations when no visitor whatever 
Could have reeog^nized the torrent as our quiet 
K anaranzi. 

True, she looks so calm and peaceful in the sunlight 
of the morning, 
You might easily mistake her for a clear and 
waveless mirror: 



73 A TALE, OF THE KANARANZI. 



Bat at times she g-iows rebellious, all our Ijiw and 

order .scoriiitig-. 
And I otten thiaU' we tiiid atv in those vvililer moods, 

the deiirer. 

All the whole year roan I we trust her, and she never 
has betraye I us. 
Hut in Ju.ie we iiold her lrea.eherous,lilce the inaidea 
of the summer. 
For 'lis then that slie so many a ntad and meiTy 
praaic his playeil us, 
When no skill the farm could muster had the txjwtr 
lo overcome her. 

All the road along: her boarders wiih lier watejr 
overflow! n<r, 
Every bridj^e completely covered, and indeed, no 
passage %o it! — 
Then we s lay just where she found us till she 
oi\ es tlje riyhi of •roing'. 
For experience has taug-ht us that's the way 
we'er quickest ?hi(ii^h it. 

Once the flood came on so swiftly that we had no 
word of warning-. 
And our sheep were on a liiilock grazing on the 
other side; 
With the waters all around them, there we saw 
tliem in the ihornin^ 
On the only spot about them that was spared 
them by the tide. 

Tliere they stayeid in patient wo i ting: for the children 
wlio should tend them. 
But there was no way to reach them, till for three 
long days they lingered; 
When a bridge the flood had brought us drifted down 
and we coula send them. 
So we polled them over siowly by the angi-y current 
hindered. 



A TALE 01" THE KANARANZI. 77 



T.iero is one. iimusincr instaiice — 'twas a happy 

summer bridal; 
Hk lived on this side the water while his 

bride lived on the other; 
'Twiis at noon, — and after dinner, the younff 

hn>.biind left his idol. 
To ride home before the evening" on an errand 

for liis mother. 

It was danfferous, they told him; it was Juno — 
a sioi-m wa^i brewingr, 
And the Ivanaranzi, listening, threatened with 
:mi an^Ty mnnnnr; 
Uut he laughed and hastened over, while tl\e 
maddened storm pursuing. 
Came so quickly that it caught him, as he 
grasped the bridle firmer. 

How it raine 1! on, on he hastened, glad to reach 
the liouse for shelter. 
Bai»ished all hope of returning till the tempest 
had abated. 
And his active mind went wandering liit'ier, thithor, 
heller-sk.dter, 
But could form no plan of resiuie, and impatiently 
he waited I 

All night, long the storm continued, an.l next day 
It still was raining; 
Could he hope to cross the river ere the way was 
barred?-he wondered; 
Through the storm he struggled onward, every nerve 
and muscle straining, 
But too late: — the bridge was 1 )oded ana his wife 
and he were sundered. 

Then he thought liiin of a crossing that was several 
miles below him — 
Strange he had until tliat moment all the thought 
of that II . .le.'ded! 



A TALE OF THE XANARANZI. 



He vvoaUl Imste and g-et across it — they might laugh 
who did not know hina; 
He would show the Katuiranzi that he knew as 
much as she did! 

liut alas for all his flui-ry, and alas for all his 
boastingl 
When at last he reached the crossino^, very wet, 
and cold, and w^ary, 
li w:is but to find the briclcpe was down the rapid 
river Ccjasling:, 
And he might as well letLii'D unto his home, 
so lone and dreary, 

Near a weidc the water kept, him oa the one side — 
her, the other: 
And the tea-.-fUil lit-tie bride had found it hard to 
keep brave-lieurt-eii; 
liardly two whole milocj- nativeen them, yet as far 
from on6 another 
As they conid have been, if oceans had their 
live^ asunder larltd. 

Every day he sought sunn.- resume — evrry night to 
end by failing, 
Boat.^ there were none— rafts were useless in thiit 
swi f tl \ -Howiiig cur re n I ; 
ISwimniing was a feat l)eyondhiiTi— '.-o i;e spent the 
time HI railing 
At the fate that sent him over in the face of that 
wild torrent. 

Well that week seemed more like fifty, but of 
course at last it ended; 
And he ciossed a plank-like passage while the 
river laughed beneath him; 
And the bride he had deserted welcomed him with 
arms extended. 
While his friends and kin with jesti:ig an I with 
laughter j-imj to greet him. 



THE SOUL OF AUTHOSSHIP 79 



Yes, that stroam — that creek yoia see there — worked 

the mischief I have told you; 
And there's many an evil d<3ed its floods must answer 

for. I fancy. 
Dear old streamlet! we forg'ive you, for within our 

hearts we hold you! 
We who live upon the bor^lers "of tJie ra^iog- Kaoa- 
ranzi!" 



TriE SOUl- OF AXjTriORSHIP. 

You say you're wearied of the strife 
That toil has brought you day by day; 
You seek to find some smoother waj'. 

And tuin to ti-y the nutlior's life! 

You SHiy you have secured in "ijart 
A mind to grasp, an eye to see. 
And you would be a devot-ee 
Of that fair Muse, the poet's art! 

1 laujrh to see so bold a start 
Into the st?a of blood and tears; 
And wonder throut^h the fleeting years 

If \'ou have found the poet's heartJ 

It is the heart, and not the mind 
That makes the poet of to-day; 
Yet there are gems along yoiir way 

flad you the skill to seek and find! 

You say, your life has known no care, 
A,nd no love-dream has found your heart 
While toil could only teach in part 

That life mi^hi always not be fair! 



THE SOUL OF AUTHORSHIP. 



Vet you would speak of human feai*s: 
Love lightly won to lightlj' yo; 
Of parted friends; of death's cruel blDW 

To move some tender heart to tears! 

Surely you jestl — how could a man 
Who ne'er had seen the sunset shine 
Spread on a canvas line for line 

As only the true artist can? 

As well mitfht I who ne'er had known 
The stars, their mysteries explain. 
As you to sinr; of love and pain. 

Who never had them of your ownl 

Wait till 3'ou"ve learned to build for years 
A castle high in yonder aii" 
Top)eople it with dreams most fair. 

And then to see it melt iji tears'. 

To lose all longings and ali strife 
And hardly care what comes or goes 
To smile at deatli as one who knows 

Theie is no death like death in life! 

To know what others seldom may 
That time is measured not by yeai-s. 
But some in heart-throbs and in tears 

May live a century in a day'. 

To lose all faith in things above 
And call life the revenge of Fate; 
To nurse in solitude a hate — 

That awful hate that once was iove! 

To took upon an earth so drear 
That it might be a desert waste; 
And feel that grief might be embraced 

When such a void is left you here! 



THE SOUL OF AUTHORSHIP, 81 



To learn wlien sunie unsparinpf cloud — 
Has left no roi'in !or your defo.ise 
The boundless depths of loneliness 

l)f o/ie a'.one in soin-e vast crowd' 

To almost long- to feel again 

The sweet, mad pain of love's decay; 
To watch the shadows by the way 

Without a thoujjht that they are men! 

(P^orwheii The One hath crossed your lot, 
The riice of men as well were g'one; 
You glance upon them one by one 

With eyes that look, but see them notJ) 

Then turn with eyes half fixed on Fame, 
And try to paini in words of fire 
These fancies ihat so soon expire 
And <rive those siiadows form and name' 

Do you u;)t know thDUgrli you might steal 
Words of a power thai cowld not die, 
Unless your hear-'t sent out the crj'. 

You could not m ike another f«el! 

Have you not learne.i to wisely read 

Jietweeii the lines that gleam with tears. 
How ihrous^h the agony of years 

That poet's soul had learned to bleed? 

""Tis hut when life's fir-t dawn departs 
And love with you-tli has .passed away 
That one can faithfully porti-ay 

That hungry cry of famisiied heartsl 

H )w could you make t!ie pulse beat fast 
Through lines and lines of empty rhyme 
Unless you too, some f.ir-off time 

Had felt the "'horror of the last!" 



82 THE SOUL OF AUTHORSHIP 



How could you run throughout the whole, 
The heart-ache and the note forlorn, 
Unless it had sometime been born 
In b'tterest travail of your soul! 

How could you speak of lips that call 
To souls that have no ears to hear 
Had you not sorui tim ; h-;ld ra )St daar 

Someone %viio owned another's thrall! 

How dare you siny of One above, 

When only those whose feet have trod 
O'er inonnlain and throug-h vale with (Jod 

C:in sound the depth-' of all His love! 

How conld you evi^n sincr nf clienr 

Who never knevv the ploom of nig'lit! 
Could one be sure the eartli w;is briji-iit 

Who had not first learned it was drear? 

How could you make the verse riiifr brave 
With heart-ache round some sombre pall. 
Unless you. too, had buried all 

Of life within some loved bne's grave! 

They say »hat some live on and on 

Kut to their bosom still to hold 

Old words that i)urnod. yet soon grew cohJ, 
And :n J n )ry kis^js t'lat are g"one! 

They say some woumls will never heal . 
Th;it there are lovi'S whose dying pain 
ICills every thought of love again 

And leaves one powerless to feel! 

That thcrp me some hearts strangely numb. 
That never found relief in tears. 
Through all the servitude of years. 

Hut bled, and bled, 3'et still were dumb 



THE SOUL OF AUrHORSHIP. 83 



Thai even eyrts whi^h laug'li the most 
May hide witliiu iheir inmost puct 
The look of one whose haunted heart 

Holds nuLliiny but a jfiiuniny ghost! 

They say that dire old demons dwell 
In many a soul that once was gay 
And sported all its youth away — 

Unless you know, how can you tell? 

You'd sing of some departed dream, 
liut teuder fanoies have no part 
Within a cold and pulseless heart 

Tiiat has not learned what love may mean. 

You'd even sing of faithful love — 
1 laugh in mockery at the thougiit! 
Sucli inspiratioiKi must, be sought 

And found ui lane.-^ you know not of! 

You may not even uudersiaud 

The glory Nature spreads aroun'l, 
For all her ueauties are not fouud 

Till fj jve iiath touched them with his hand. 

Until the sleeping .s<nil finds birtli. 
No inurjnuruig stream is understood; 
No majesLy in yonder wood; 

Nothing suulune in aU tUe earth! 

Y on may not voice the laborers' cries 
\Viio iiunsed tlie mu^icof the spheres, 
Till your hamls, Loo, ti iv^; toiled for year^ 

And, hopeless, learueJ to sympathize! 

Uou't think in idle tiioughl again 

'i'he path is oue where roses bloom. 
For 1 can see along it loom 

The thorny penance of the pen. 



THE SOUL OF AUTHORSHIP 



"You work so hard to catcli the song' 
That sings its sweetness in your ear. 
Yet comes aud goes, and sounds not clear 

Till y»n have followed far and )onig-. 

You learn how hard amid the din 
Of all the iiishiji^' vnld Vont 
To close the ear to sounds without 

That jar on melodies within! 

And then when all the worli is- wrought 
You mark the weakness of the words 
And feel through all your spirit siir{,'e 
The bitter scorn of Hfterthouglitl 

Yon see hovv powerless the lin"s 
The soul's divinii.g- to portrsiy. 
When Nature, all along her way 

Has filled it full O'f mystic sig-nsl 

You 'see the truest fantnes dfe- 

Within the cold ami fm mal frame 
Of words, so commonplace and tame 

They Cfjulil not voice so deep a cry! 

You: find results so far below 
'l"he smallest stmdard you could raise 
Aud then you list to idle praise 

Of that whose worthlessoess you knowT 

Your heart o'erSows with tenderness, 
Or rn^ the depths fig'hts fierce despair;; 
Yet heart-tbro-bs vainly beat the air 

In tvords too weak to half express! 

Then when the pen has seemed to flovr 
More close unto the goal you sought 
You find that some one else's thoug-ht 

Hath compassed all that years ago! 



THE SOUL OF AUTHOKSHIP. 85 



(Oil for ;i taste ~>f that g'lad mood 
That was llie Malier's afterlhoug't 
Who when the work of worlds was vvrou;jht 
LoOiCed oil it and pronounced it good!) 

The critic comes — the truest friend — 
And kindly as the surgeon's knife, 
Probes to the vitals of your life 

To watch its blood ooze to tlie end! 

You loathe hiin for it in the breast 
He robbed of its creative joy, 
But learn the hand that c )uld destroy 

Sujh dreams was his who loved you best! 

You follow thi' inspiring ray 

Your soul in heavens of delight; — 
\'ou turn, to fall in blackest night 

Where beams no hope of dawning day! 

Some fantasy is vainly sought; 

You eager chase false lights about, 

Only to lose your pathway out 
And tangle in a web of th ju^-Iii! 

The Muse will lead you hero and there 
To find the rainbow's pots of gold, 
Only to plunge vou in the cold 

And cruel waters of despair' 

This, Man is the inspiring art 
Your e.ye'> so blindly covet nowi 
The laurels twined about your brow 

Must cotne as thorns to pierce your iieart! 

Yet even this will sometime cea«e, 
And strife will find its reerimpense 
When Fame shall turn to lead you hence 

And crown vou on the Mount of Peace! 



S6 THE SOUL OF AUTHORSHIP. 



Ah, she is jealous, Mistress Art, 
And almost vainly is pursued 
My him who comes in idle mood 

To lirioo- her a divided heart! 

Yet he who g-iveth up her charms 
Too sore-diseouratjed to pursue 
The lio-ht it'seems so vain to woo, 

May turn to find her in his armsl 

But wait, my friend, until you see 
Your fond hopes failing- one hy one; 
Come at the settitis'i' of your sun 

Atid you may turn to poetry! 

Come with dru'vn lips iind lushes wel. 
For God wiH love you better so; 
Then suiile, for some time you may know 
Vcni were no' luijipier toforjjet! 

L'or, but for l(-.ss we'd prize no jjain; 
And but for pain, scarce welcome joy; 
It is when yrief our loves destroy 
We learn how sweet to smile throus'h painf 

And they who laug^h amid their tears. 
Who smile beneath a barren sky. 
And force a sonj^ to drown the sigrh, 

Have blended youth with all their years? 

You say the years may teach the spell 
Anil you. in time, may gam the power; 
Ah, friend, it comes in one short hour — 
First learn t) fp;i<:i, and then to tell 

For by the whole wide-world of art. 
And all the minds that ever thouf^ht 
The power of g^rief could not be taug^ht, 

Tiie ha.irt lone can speak to heart! 



MY EEKITAGE. S7 



S ome day yonr heart will hear a sono- 
Tii;it tlirills so madly throug-h jacli vein, 
ll m'v.i-ciu g-iow calm ajjaia — 

It Mi.iy c.iiiiii soon — il may bu. lonn-! 

But then--and not till then-j'our throat 
Can voice the rapture of that strain; 
Rapture so soon to turn to pain 
When it shall sound its dying- note! 

It will be brief — a moment's bliss, 
And you will learn tosinj? of Heaven' 
Another moment, and is g^iven 

The power tosing- of all life's miss! 

You see it eomelh oti you fast, 

That ptiwei' ih it was so \ou<i; unknown; 
But you will hold the undertone 

Of tluit sWL-et soMo- while life shall last! 

If you would write of soi-row then, 
And sing- some song- of liumaii woe, 
.lust tell of that of wliicli you know. 
And you may touch the hearts of men! 

For triuuiphing- o'er every art 

And all thee, tssics oi tae years, 

To those whose souls have ivmuvn their tears, 
Appeals the lang'aaore of the lieart! 

MY HERITAGE. 

To me w;>s g-iven before I came to earth ; 

A boon tliat many a spirit is denied — 
Of Love beg-otten, found I welcome birth, 

And loated on Love's current to Life's tide, 
My motiier wms a dri*amer and a poet, — 

Not one who jjen'*, as I , nt idle i hyme, 
Bufiitie whose soul was filled, and did not know it, 

With songs unsung-, and cadences sublime. 



88 MY HERITAGE. 



She long-od to pierce the mysteries of ether, 

And yoarned for all tiiat noble is, and truet 
She loved sweet verse and song-, yet aimed at neither, 

Thoug'h they illumined all she tried to do. 
Before 1 came, she poured o'er many a poet, 

And dreamed his dreams throug-ti all that happv wait, 
And thiis it was — tliouph still she did not know ii, — 

That she iierself iiad inarked for me my fate! 

I grew from babyhood an idle dreamer, 

1 could not be content with commonplace; 
In fancy's field I long-ed to be a frleaner, 

And gather bloom of sweet and lasting' <,>-f;ice, 
I did not understand the spell that bound me, 

For others near me seemed so satistii-d; 
I looked in wonderment at some around me 

Who seemed to iniss so imicli on every side! 

I could not love, as others can, so lightly; 

My loves were full of tire— my hales as strong; 
Such loves, they tell me, m;ver can end briglitlj' — 

Their fires consume them, ere they burn for l(m<''! 
Ah, mother, had you seen it wlien you bore me— 

That such a power for love or hate were mine. 
Would you not trembled at the path before me 

That coiild be safe but by a Guide divine? 

Now, I am bound to earth by many a trammeliiug-. 

Yet not oue moment wish I otherwise; 
For in the 'vildest spasms of my rambling 

I glory most, thank God, in hnman ties! 
I linow I never by the best endeavor. 

Can reach the heights I aimed at long ago. 
Yet God hath given me for mine forever 
A little song that clings and will not g-o! 

I can but be a rhymer and I know it. 

But if some soul from me hath gathered cheer, 
I shall, have filled the mission of a poet — 

To send some hop>- where all seems void and drear! 



THE HAIWMOCKON THELAWN. 89 



Anfi if the feeble rhyme and faulty meter 
That 1 ;im sending- from me far and wide, 

JSiiiill ivacMi line heart and malie its life seem sweeter, 
I sh.ill, indeed, be more than satistiedl 



TriE HAMMOCK ON THE LAWI4. 



Oh it hung- beneath the apples 

On tlie carpet of the lawn, 
Where the bird of summer babbles 

Of its joys from early dawn. 
And when all the trees were laden 

With the tender bl<»oms of May, 
It was thei-e 1 met the maiden 

Whom my heart recals to day. 

It was there I learned to love her; 

It was there 1 told her so: 
Wiih the blossoms sweet above her 

And the gniss so green belovv; 
There, when all the lisLeaing meadows 

Put their ro es of silence on, 
And we sat and watched the shadows 
In the moonlight on the lawn! 

Oil, I told her she was fairer * 

Than the dainty blooms above, 
That the moonlight was not r.ni-r 

Tlian the glory of my Icvi- 
And her answer — oh, I hold it 

In my heart tliough years are gone 
Since the evening when she told it 

In the hammock on the lawn! 



THE HAMMOCK ON THE LAWN. 



She was lithe as any foalher 

And I called lier iny "•Child-wife," 
As we sat so oft together 

Planing all our future Ufe. 
Ahl an unseen cloud whs o'er ns. 

That wauid burst while yet 'twas da wa 
And the joy we thought before «s 

Died in sorrow on the lavvnl 

Oh, tlie years rolled on and left me. 

And the lawn is far away 
But the SLrugi4'ie that bereft me 

Comes as clear as tlje;i to-da^', 
When we staod fso heavy-he iried 

rviiowing well that all wis ltoiks 
While 'n bittiM' tear> we p.nied 

LJy tlie bainai jck on th^- lawnL 

S> le returned n>y ring wiil> kisses. 

But slie said I would forget 
In tlie power of coining^ blisses 

That we two had ever met; 
True; — I since have loved anoiher 

Just as she herself has done, 
But no later love could smother 

All the in<im. ories o-f thai lawn-. 

Once since I have wandered over 

All the scenes, we loved so well. 

But the lawn was grown with clover^ 

And the trees had lost their spell, 
While the g-irl I lo\^jd so madly. 

Had fronii all those laudmarlcs gone. 
And I missed her there as sidly 
As- the hammock from the lawn. 

Now my 'child- wife" is anothei's,. 

And omplete again her life; 
While I — well, I'm like all others, 

I have won myself a wife; 



ISABEL. 91 



Si) y.)a see 1 should forg-^^t t — 
That ssweet past so surely ,_;-one: 

It wt-rx' 111 i.fuess to retj"ret it — 
A.i LliaL summer uii the lawn! 

Yet I'd give much to discover, 

Though it were not well, 1 know, 
If she thinks of her old lover, 

And the swings of long- ago, 
Time has made a long endeavor, 

And her charms may all be gone, 
lUit my memory sees her ever 

As I left her on the lawn! 

And if I should sudden meet her 

In some path of life to-day, 
How, I wonder, shoiTld I greet her — 

Wliat the first words we would say'.' 
Ahl if all her youtliful glory 

Be forever from her gone. 
Let me keep instead liefore me 

My wee fairy of the lawn! 

Oh, I love my own most dearly. 

And my spirit does not tire, 
Hut I sometimes see most clearly 

That I've lost the olden fire; 
And--God help me!-tb.it 'twere sw jeter 

If these new-formed ties were gone 
And 1 might go back and meet her 

By the hammock on the lawn! 



ISABE^L. 

I sit trying a nt'W cigar. 

While my wife in a room beyond 
Is bending above our baby there, 



92 



ISABEL. 



And tenderly humming' a dreamy air 

With a look that is more tliaa fond; 
And somethinij about her my fancies start 
To a memory in which she has had uo part. 

It may be the style of lier hair, 

Or the o^low of her crimson gown. 
Or it may be tlie music upon tiie air 
Or a song that we one time had thought so fair 

That I caught as I hurried down; 
I cannot say what lias brought the spell, 

But I'm thinking of you — you, I&;ibeil 

It is strange! For the past I have small regret. 

Yet, to-night, you '.-eem very luai'i 
My wife, and the pn-seiii, and'all Ive met 
In the siuoke and its magic 1 seem to forget. 

And only tlie past is here— 
The past, wJien life seemed an unending song 
Witli your liiiilling alio to help it aloiigl 

My wife and her lullaby vanishes quite, 

And I see but your dark brown eyes. 
And I hear but the music wt* tiiought so brigiit 
That we sang together on many a night 

When the world was a paradise, 
And our warm young hearts into one were blent. 
For love and music were all life meanil 

I think of it all, Isabel — 

The bliss of those years that we knew; 
Then I tliink of the shock that had broken the spell, 
Wiien I learned I had loved you to > fondly' and well. 

And I was deceived in you! 
O, Isabel! all of that madness lives yet, 
That I fondly believed I had learned to forget! 



ISAB£L. 93 



Perhiips I was hard, Isabel, 

But I hated with sueli a h ite! 
Perhaps I was hard, and il had been well 
'to dtial more kindly, I cannot tell, 

For the question is all too late. 
Oh, I know that my ang-er was like the wind, 
Yet you mig'ht have been sinned against more than you 
sinned. 

[lad 1 loved you less, Isabel, 

My rrvitit had been less, I know; 
[3ut my love had been such as the ang'els tell, 
\iid my suffering- was as the firea of hell, 

Thoug-h it burned to death lon^ ago! 
\nd I think of the time as men often do 
iVhea yon lived for me and I lived fi^r you. 

(\h! you might have made, Isabel, 

Siicli a man as Ciod meant of me; 
But the years have taken that holy spell 
And nothing more sacred has come to dwell 

In the heart where you used to be. 
It is strange though I know you were false to th ' core, 
That to-night I am longing to clasp you once morel 

Oh, have you, too, learned to prize 

The bitter of that last kiss 
More than all the love-light in other eyes, 
\nd all of the honey that for you lies 

In the holds of a later bliss? 
We have both formed ties that are sweet and true, 
Yet to-night, I am wasiing aiiroam on you! 

Sometimes, in the niglit, Isabi-l. 
You come to me, fair as of old: — 
rVith the tall, slim figure I knew so well 
^nd the dark brown eyes wiiii ihe olden spell, 
You come back to my e,i^,er lold; 



94 



ISABEL. 



And then I forget all thai lies between 

Till the moroinpr tells ine 'twas only a dream! 

Oh. why, why, Isabel, 

Did I find you as false as fair? 
I trusted more truly than I could tell; 
I loved you — as men seldom do — too well, — 

In the years that have vanished there! 
Oh, why did God make you in form so sweet, 
And {jive you a heart that was false beneath? 

Oh ,my life would be better yet — 

I am sure of it, Isahei,— 
If God had but willed that I had not m 't 
Thfc faee that to-niyht I eatitiot for^^el 

A^ it comes with il.s ^weel, swi-et spell, 
And casts such a shade on the joys that I see, 
As it threatens lo come 'twixt the present and me. 

Yet I'm thinkin<T, O Isabel, 

That perhaps, were our iiv.-s made one. 
We had learned to reijret it — ah, who can tell? 
For I'm sure in my nieinory always would dwell 

The thoug^ht of the wroii^"- you had done! 
I mijjht have for^^iven — I cnulfl not forLjt'l, 
And all of our days had been tilled with re(;!Tet. 



The babe is asleep nt last 

And my little wife comes away; 
My cifjar goes cut, and it takes the past 
With all of its fancies awny so fust. 

As I turn to her eyes of grey; 
And 1 look in their depths where the wifj-lights swell 
And murmur, "Thank G )d for it all — 'lis well!" 



HAPPINESS. 95 



HAPPIIVIESS 

Prom daj' to day, whate'er we say, 
We hokl one common quest; 

And be our aim for vvealtn or fame 
We've one goal with the rest: 

For toward all ends we eager press 

That we may find there happiness. 

One search is told as shining gold; 

AnoLher looks for fame: 
With eyes above, some loolc for love; 

But all remain the same; 
We seek alone our lives to bless 
That gift thai seemelh happiness. 

Oh, oft it be to you and me 

A phantom, still beyond; 
And when al last it meets our grasp, 

No happiness is found 
That turns lo loss we thought was gain 
And joy, long-soiig.it, has come as pain! 

I question, too, as many do, 

Can happiness be sure? 
It rests too much upon the touch 

Of souls to be secure; 
We all are mirrors of others' moods 
And feed our lives on borrowed foods! 

When just one frown can cast me down 

Into the gloom of night; 
And j'lst one smile that bjam^ awhile 

Cm in ike the whole world bright; 
H )w can I ca, 1 them happy years 
In whijh one word can start the tears? 



96 CHANGES. 



One old-time lone lias power alone 

To fill my day wiili soiiy'; 
And but to miss one parting- kiss 

Makes all my world g-o wrong-; — 
My Lapp in ess can only be 
When I have you, and you have me. 

Yet there's a peace that shall not cease 
While earth and heaven' stand; 

That joy that flows in one who knows 
He does the best he can; 

For be the outcome dark or brio-ht 

We will find joy in doing riglit. 

And all the song' that must belong- 
To eai'th and eai ilily biiss, 

Must fail and die vviien joys draw nigli 
The Master inai-ks are His! 

For tliat alone can last ail-while 

\\ hie I comes from (Jud's approving ^mil. 



CriANGES. 

I walked through an old garden-spot to-day; 

Sweet flowers grew there as in days gone by; 
!Some birds were sinking in the same giad wa\'; 

The sun smiled brightly in tlie, azuffc sl^y- 

Yet not one bit the same it seemed to me 
As in tlie days we passed so sweetly there; 

There was a lack — 1 know not what it be — 

But llowerte, nor'songs, nor skies seem-) half so fair! 

All — i>ll — was changed as all things earthly must, — 
Our tastes, our needs are chaiig-ing constatitly; 

■^ nd while I smiled at old hopes lost in dust, 
I felt the greatest change was th.at in rae! 



CHANGES. 



O II- hoarls outgrow the dreams of eii-ly youth, 
•lust ;l■^ llip year outgrows the flowers of May; 

Ami yoii II n. I I, ars others, learned the truth, 
That all til iiiy.s live their time aad pass away. 

Sometimes we cry aloud when ehau.£,'e appears,— 

We miss familiar g-lories of the old; 
Yet soon— ah soon, indeed!— tlie new endears, 

And we forg-et the silver for the g-old. 

For Time— kinder than cruel— loves a chang-e. 
And while we yet nurse pain, he bring-s us balm 

That ere we realize that Pug-ht is strang-e. 
Floods all our spirit with its healing- calm! 

We love our g--iefs; we clinjr to all our tear.s. 

And revel in the luxlu-y of re^-r^t; 
And rather choose the ajfony of years 

Than that hour wiieii.we learn we can forg-et! 

And so amid the g-anlen of ihe past. 

The olden memories fade in hcenes g-rown new; 
I miss you, clear, there where I saw you ast. 

Yet miss my olden self as much as you! 

AH,— all the hopes and aims I clierish.Hi then 
Appear so frivolous to me to-day; 

And you,— tiie nearest of my world of m cm- 
Have g-rown to be so very far away! 

We were but children, playing there at life. 

Without a Ihougiit that I fe was not all play; 
t needed all the years of gr ).vth and strife 
To make the man and woman of to-day! 

!et it was Spring— thank God we all have Spring-! — 
And we were happy, — were we not?— those day's; 

.h! never have I heard the robin sing- 
VVith half tlu .^woetiie.^s of those early lays! 



97 



98 CHANGKS. 



We loved the violets truly, you and I; 

And thought, of course, to find them alwaj's there; 
We stood at May's decline and watched them die 

With that sweet woe we children called despair. 

We wept of course when first we saw thein die, 
IJut soon tile Summer bro\icrht a richer lot;. 

And then apart we revelled, you ami I, 
In July splendor, and the Spring forgot. 

Summer is sweet — -yet you have had no part 
In this rose-garden where I walk at noon; 

And all the thrilling fragrance ia my heart 
P"'inds for the humble violet little roomi 

So let them go! I keep a withered f e iv 

llivl deep within ray heart of tiearts to-day; 

You plucked them— do you mind it? — when the d 
Yet sparkled on tiie grasses where tliey lay. 

Ah! well it is to change when seasons do. 

And waste no glory thoug"!! our looking* back: 

That Spring that stole the violets, took you, too; 
And yet — forgive me, dear — ;! feel no lack! 

I might, I know, have found the rose too red, 

Or all its fragrance hea,vy for the air; 
But no! my heart was born agaiii, not dead., 

To wonder that it thought the violets fair! 

You must not chide me — can you think it strange 
When earth itself takes on. so mf^ny hm?s, 

That hearts should heed the same fixed law of ehang e, 
Beneath a sky that shows us varied blues? 

Truly you cannot mean you still would cling 
To all of which maturer souls must tire, 

You cannot mean that you would hold tq Spring, 
When you might know the heat of Summer firel 



AN EaOTIST. 90 



*'D ) I 'lol miss it? — " somiitiines, to bo sure, 
Wiiiiii some sweet winft" of vioiet soeuLS tlie uir; 

Jiixi luruiuy to the rose 1 tind a cure 

And soou foi'tfet iho violets seemed so fair! 



AN EGOTIST. 

You saj' I have shown that I love you 

liecduse as a fi-iead I have soaj;fht 
lu t.id passa;?.^ of iij^ut w>n-ds to jfovj yja, 

Aud thrown you back tliouifht for your tho i^ht, 

Why, Man, that alone siiould have sliowed you 

lli^w eoid were the words that would eo ne; 
Foi- tlie lips of the one who had loved you 
You liaU found to be tremounyiy duinb! 

You say I can never forget you 

For you've learned lu a moment's surprise 
When sometimes by chanee I have meiyou 
To read my deiio'nt in my eyes! 

You are idind — if my hean's introspection 
Had showed me your laee noUliniC thrall 
My eyes, turued another direction, 
\V ouid never have seen you at all! 

You say you have this other token, 

That i, in the warmest of ways, 
When your name has by others been spoken 
Have heartily joined in its praise. 

Ah! sir, if my heart at "Attention!" 

Had learned you as hearts only may, 
Ue sure, when your name was in mention, 
1 had not fuund a word I could say! 

L.ofC. 



lOO AN EGOTIST. 



You think by a rhjMnc I ha.l writlt-n, 

That Colored youf virluos bo lii^rli, 
(And p isscd o'er ihu fuullb) ihal I'm smitten 
iiy some iricii of voice or of eye. 

Al), fool, would a heart npe its fcjutitaiu. 

And cry out its secrets aloud? 
As well inigiit I si.indoii ii mo.intain. 
And preach to a lis'.ening' crowd! 

Don't you know that we rhymers like sketehiujr, 

yVnil ,searcii f )r some t'orin to admire: 
Then enlar^'e on th i l)est in oiu- eicua^' 
And piirj,'e out the i)a;i, as L)y lire? 

So be sure, ilioutiii yon think it seems brig-hlcr 

Than the rosy ideal of a friend. 
If it came irom th<- heart of the w;iter 
It had never — ol), never! — been penned! 

You say I've berin warm in m/ ofreetinj". 

As though I found much to admire, 
Have claimed you as frieud since our meeting', 
Which tells you of warmer desire! 

Oh, how sirang'e tluit you sliould not di-icover 

That a man may forever depend 
That a. wo nan wlio craved him as lover 
Could never have calletl him a frieud! 

Oh, how could you think a pure woman 

Could - eai" all iiei- heart in her cheek? 
Don't you know, be she ever so human, 
It is ouly the man who can speak? , 

She may spend all her life-time in dreaminjr 

But until HE has made life a whole, 
She must cloak in the vesture of seeming. 
The innermost thouR'hts of her soul! 

O I laugh, and I lauo-h at your follies! 

You Egotist, why don't you start 
And fathom that holy of holies. 

The shrine cf a true wom.iu's heart! 



PELL. 101 



Then learn that no eyes Ihat could meet you, 
And smile back the glances of yours. 

Are the windows where ever shall yreet ycu 
That love-lighl that deathless endures! 

Now go! Nay, look not so accusing", 

I've the heart of a true vvoinan, yet; 
And though I am firm in refusing, 
1 deny that I've pla^'ed the coquette! 

I have made you a friend, sir, as truly 

As Plato himself might inspire 
With never a thought that uuiiuly, 

8ome glance mig'lit breed deeper desire! 

No — no! do not speak so insanely — 

You wrong all the woman within! 
Had 1 sliown you \uy favor less plainly, 
You tlien might Have callea it a sin! 

Tliere are things tliat no woman discloses, 

Hdt you vvi-oa^ mj— low liear whit is tru ;, 
That if men were as scarce as blue roses 
My heart could not open to you! 



PELI-. 



In idling with old souvenirs to-d;iy 
I found some letters long since lain away; 
Letters whose sheets are yellow now with age, 
Yet waken sleeping memories with each pf ge; 
Letters whose words are varied grave and light, 
With veins of tenderness, and veiled dleight; 
VVliose fires yet burn witli all the power of old, 
Altliough the hand that penned them all is cold! 



102 PELL. 



1 see a promise liere. — a picadinir then'. 
With now and then a blessiiio- or a prayer; 
And depths of thoog'ht arxJ feeling' in each line 
That left the writer's lieart and sank in mine; 
Hopes tiial were kindled but 'o burn so fast 
Into the smoke and ashes of ttie past; 
The words alone survive tlie change of years, 
And these are blurring' thi-ougrh a mist of tears. 

They bring' a sad old story back ag'ain 

Tliat I liad buried in its robe of pain — 

Tlie memory of a life, so brave and strong-. 

Just testing its young' pinions in the throng"; 

A life that closely tonched on mine nf yore, 

That was so mucii, and aiig'ht have been much more; 

A life that seemed so far removed from death. 

And yet could be extiDgui.slseil wiili a breathl 

To night some fascination holds me here; 
An unseen presence seems to ling-er near; 
Some shadow I but dimly understand 
!j50 close I almost touch it with my hanil; 
Ana in the spell, I live the past again 
Witli all its happiness and all its pain. 
Though even yet 1 shudder to recall 
The story with the sorrow of it all! 

.An evening's sport upon the tempting lake, 
A boat with dire dis-aster in its wake; 
An accident — but one of many more, 
Thougij none had so appealed tome before! 
The waters closed upon a manly form 
That was no more to breast life's changing storm; 
That's all! — a tale we almost daily see, 
But oh! the vital difference to me! 

1 sit and think of all he might have won. 
And all the noble deeds he might have done; 
Hecalling the integrity and trutlt 
And all the promise of his pure sweet youth; 



PELL. 103 



I Lliink of all it meant, to iiio aV last, 

AiKiall llie pos:5ibilit'.es of the past 

And lhi\)a<vli my spirit rinij-s the u-orn-out cry, 

Tiiat evor-pre-sen t, iievtii-answered "why?" 

A 1(1 y^t I feel his life was not in v li.i; 

'I'liij loss was onrs aicjn^', an 1 oa 's tiu> pain; 

His mission ht-re vv.is (h)ne nsCioil had vvilied 

Klse liis li fe-soii;j had not so soon been stilled. 

IMy life is bi.'tt.-r for the liitle time 

Tliat his true nature left its print on mine. 

And thrijiighoiit all my years I shall he ""lad 

For all the sweet coinmr.nion then we had. 

My life is even lietter for the fjrief 

'rn:ii drowned the hopes so promising- and brief; 

For in the deep^'sl; woe some solace lies. 

Atrd sucii a s-.i-row snrr^ly purihes. 

Without the shadows, would we prize the lifrhf^ 

And who would love the morn who knew no nig-ht? 

Perhaps that p-ain in some way came to bless 

And j'et may prove a source of hippiness. 

'Tis true I buried much that, 1 could ciave 
Witliin tlie hu;nble shadows of his g-rave; 
And with liim died in me a sacred part 
Of all the yontliful yearning's of iny heart; 
'Tis sweet to mi■^s so'ne part of life to-day 
Tiiat f(5ll(jwed out ttie soul that passed away; 
T is sweet to feel that some fi-eed breath may be 
vVith him to whisper tender thoughts of .ne, 

Sometimes I pause to murmur "It is welll" 

Wiien heavy trials cast o'er me their spell; 

There is a sweet contentment just to know 

Our dead are ours, secure from all below; 

'J'hou^'h true he was, he mig'ht have chang-ed some day; 

Though pure lie Was, the best are led astray; 

I've lived to learn as rainy another hatii, 

That there are oarting-s that are wai-.sc than death. 



104 PELL. 



I often wonder if our (Jcar ones know 
Wliat passes in the world of men below, 
And if, renxcinbering' uU their earlhiy tiaelc, 
They somelimea pause and wistfully turn buck, 
T(j follow some beloved one on i he way. 
Or cle.ir scyme ihreat'iiiiig- sorrow from the day, 
That we may find some liours filled full of cheer, 
Ufjcouscious tliat the old-loved foim is near. 

Sometimes so heavy grows the loaci of care 
That it seems more iliau luiman hands can boar; 
And then I almost envy him the bliss 
That took him far froin weariness like this, 
jt was so sweet to close a hajipy eye 
And open it on beiunies in the sky; 
To leave amid a lauiih of boyish cheer 
liefore tlie wurld liud shown it could be dretir. 

If we could fathom (iod's infinitude. 
And all His plans for us were understood, 
We then should see He takes our own away 
To keep them spotless for some happier day; 
We then should see the good that He denies 
Would not be good in His all-seeing eyes. 
But as a mother takes a harmful toy. 
So doth our Father take forbidden joy. 

We cling too closely to the husks of earth, 

And spend our time in revelry and mirth: 

We love, as sons of men have ever done, 

And drift away from the Eternal One; 

"i'ls then that He must stretch His chastening hand, 

That we once more awake to understand 

That those we love for but a time were giyen, 

And turn our wandering thoughts from earth to Heave 

Ttis not meet that we should e'er depend 
So surely on the vigor of a friend: 



PELL. 105 



Wpi women sialic loo inucii, and lose it all, 
Foryetlinfj- that tlie sirDngvst one may fall. 
Onr lives are sliapeil too much by those we love; 
We cliuy in weakness that we know not of 
'Jill the support is rudely torn away, 
And we are left to thrive as best we may. 

'I'hen do we say our lives in ruins lie 

And all our hopes and aims perforce must die, 

We weep above the wreck of life's ideal 

That seems so very far above the real; 

The goal that seemed so near our grasp before 

We say is possible for us no mure, 

Foro-etting that tlie slreugth of God is sure, 

And His support forever shall endure! 

We are too prone to rail at Kate and say, 

''1 might have soared s.i iiigli that other way!" 

How do we know tlie ideals of the past 

May not by effort be attained at last? 

Why do we sit and mourn for liopcs that fled, 

And seek to call to lif^ a dream that's dead? 

Life need not lose through change of time and scene; 

We yet may be all that we might have been! 

Th3 star tiiat beekoned on in days of youtli 
May shine for us to day in very truth; 
Bat we are g iziti ^ on a distant sph.Tj 
All disr.^gard the glory th it i-: a»j,!*. 
We are but human that ive value most 
The old companion, or the love that's lost; 
We are but worldlings, and we deai'ly prize 
The gift that just beyond our effort lies! 

To-night I say, "This dream must be the last; 
Forever be it buried iu the past!" 
To-mori'ow comes — the dream awakes with day, 
Refusing to be coldly lain away. 



FORGET YOTJP 



Tiiere are some ec!ioes from the unseen shoro 
Til at farce ihe aselves up)ii iu> o'er and o'er. 
And voices Lb it h ive c^ase 1 to g-ie !t m > iiere 
Still sound tlu;ir cadences within my ear. 

I turn — the letters rustle, and at last 

I force aside this vision of the past; — 

It seems I did not fully i>nderstand 

The power of tiuit well-remembered hand.. 

I lay them back aj,'-aiu within their place. 

Tog-ether witli a pictured boyish (ac. 

And turn away to c'leck the teai-drops' flow. 

For — these are all of him that's left me now. 

Thank God that Duty and her servitude 
Sternly forbids induio'iny' every mood I 
The past is ours no more — 'tis (Jod's alone; 
The future beckons, and it is our own. 
Then may we take llie "will" totindtiie "way." 
And niake the "might h;tve beeus" ou"" own to-da3' 
■With hopeful eyes upon the bye-and-bye, 
Ho sure that Heaven liolds all for which we sigh! 
(18!JG) 



FORGET YOLF*? 

Do I forg-et you? 

My heart answers, "NoJ" 
Prom the day of our parting^ 

Till this one, I know 
That memory is strong-er 

Each hour that I live, 
And 1 cannot forget 

Though I freely forgive. 



FORGET YOU? 107 



81iould I forg-et you? 

God knows that I should, 
If I cafe to be happy 

Or wihh to be good; 
For memory but laches 

My heart to rebel, 
And tills it with fires 

Tliat no coldness can quell! 

Would 1 forget you? 

Sometimes I would, dear, 
When the burden g-rows heavy, 

And skies seem more drear; 
But it's often and oftener 

I love to recall 
Those brief hours of pleasure, 

The sorrow, and all! 

Must 1 forget you? 

Do you wish it so? 
There's nothing now left me 

But memory, yoa know; 
The cup of our love-dream 

You drained of its best; 
Save the dregs in the bottom — 

Oh, leave rac the rest! 

Can I forget you? 

Nay, love, nevermore! 
Your image is stamped 

On my heart's very core, 
And though living must be 

But an endless legret, 
Untiblife ends forever 

I cannot forget. 
(1805) 



108' THE SHOOTING OF A WELL. 



TriE SHOOTING CF A WELL. 

Tliey tell rae you are here a-lookiuof 'connd! 

Well, how d'yoa like the reg'ion you hav>i found? 

There's lots of tilings that must look stranc^o to you. 

And heaps of places full of dancrer too. 

It's not the finest spot nii earlh I know, 

But you'll find drawbacks everywhere you g-o; 

And, stranger, it will averatre pretty fair — 

It's men are honest, and their dealing's square. 

This morning they liave planned to shoot a well; 
That were a sight worth seeing, let me tell! — 
A sight that's thrilled throu-fh all I've ever met. 
A sight that none, once seeing, conld forget. 
So get your nat, and walk across witli me, — 
Whose eyes are open, mig-hty tilings may see! 
And far from being sorry thai yen went, 
You'll say the morning was indeed well spent. 

That is the lease a mile towards the right; 
You mark it not; so many rigs, in sight! 
Lookout! now walk this plank benind me here — 
A. B. S. ditch to cross! — there! now we're clear! 
Now duck your head a bit or you may fall — 
No danger, sir — a surface-rod that's all! 
Just see the rigs, — some far away, some close — 
Wc might count eiglity odd from here. I s'pose! 

That noise you hear is from that engine there; 
It must be hard for untaught nerves to bear; 
But I could sleep beside it and not hear 
Except to miss it, should it disappear. 
You see, we are accustomed to its call 
Who know we are dependent on it all; 



THE SEOOTING OF A WELL. 109 



For tliat yas-onofine, mindless of its power. 
Puff-, iloiliii's in our pockets eveiy hour. 

Ytiu do not liku the odor of the oil, 
lint we wlio live on well-produeing- soil 
'i'.ike in new life with every breath we draw, 
lor oil means money here, and wealth is law. 
Here is a tank — climb up antl peep wiiliiu; 
J. h,iL dark stuff may no admi ration win 
Juit you may liue it better when 1 say 
1 L briuys in tifteen dollars every day! 

'LMi;il's royalty, you know, and varies some: 
Wometiines a iiiifher rate by far may eome; 
And sometimes less — but one can live j^ou know 
Awhihi on TEN if it should liappen so. 
Here is a power-house that's run by steam; 
IS'ot many of them now are ever seen; 
They nialie less noise Out gas is nut so dear, 
And does the work, and so we use it here. 

Those storage tanks upon the other lease 
Hold tifty thousand barrels of oil apiece; 
JLiglit of them burned one day, — that was a sigh; 
Tile country here for miles ablaze with Ught! 
'Twas awful, too — so great a loss— but stay! 
What do 3'ou t'link of every night's display? 
VViien all the H. S. fires and gasdights shine 
Can you look on and not pronounce it tine? 

Well here's the well they're going to shoot to-day: 
The driller's done his work, and gone away; 
Down in the ground for fifteen hundred feet. 
He's worked his way, and all is now complete; 
Complete as far as he has power to go, 
And ready for the crowning test you know; 
The test that serves the hole's truth worth to tell! 
And makes of it at once a fuU-fiedged well. 

Yes that's the derrick, that wind-mill affair 
That reaches fully seventy feet in air; 



IIO THESEOOTINGOF A WELL. 



To look wp ihere niiyiit malie your senses whir], 
IJiit all these fellows climb it liU-e a squirrel! 
The ei'owd se-ns anxious b.il taa-t's not so queer; 
A eool two th lasand's represenieci here. 
Thei-e eoiues tne snperinleDdoiit V-ack of you, 
And there's the sljooter with liis wagon, too; 
Not quite so close, — there's nothint,'- to be seen; 
Look out! why, man, that's nitr(3-<,'-lyceriiie! 

The field- bass stands across there to your rig-ht. 
There's roasiabouts and tr>ol-iire^&ers in slight; 
And there's a pumper — before many an hour 
lie in ly be stationed iiere, a '"runniog' tonrl" 
You see thtit women, too. are turning- out, 
And crowds of eiiihlren, ofaLhenn_;- abt)UL; 
It is a sig-ht, familiar ihouuh it be, 
Tiiat somehow, we are; always ;L;'iad to see. 

You see tliose c;iii-like pipes within the cart? 
That's lubinj'', and they till it part by part 
With nitro-<T-lyeerice, then very .slow 
'i'is lowered in the hole for rods below. 
I believe the fellows worlv with bated breaths; 
One slip, yon know, miifut m^an a hundred deaths; 
And thouifh they miy have worked at it for years, 
Methinks '.hey cannot wholly sliflj fears. 

Somstiines. jnst to protect the crops about. 
They cap the well in — this they shoot without; 
They're ready now; the go-devii yoes in — 
A piece of iron like a eoupling'-pin. 
They're lowerinjj it — run back to safer g'roiind, 
For woe to him who m ly too close be found! 
There may be little dang^.^r — we can't know; 
I wouldn't run the risk — 'tis unwise so! 

We are as careful as the be.st of men. 
But accidents have happened even then! 
This is no place where dang-er can be dure 1, — 
liy any one who wi.^hes to be spared. 



THE FIRE-WHISTLE. Ill 



There! hear that thud that seems to shake the sod 
Around ns here for many and many a rod? 
Tiie go-devil has reached the bottom now, 
And that's the warning from the world below. 

There! There! look now! but isn't that a sight? 
A splendid shot indeed! that well's all right; 
Just see the oil and rocks eome gushing there — 
Methinks they shoot a hundred feet in air! 
No w, friend — is not the sight beyocd all praise? 
And one you will remember all yourdaysV 
■ Yes, that is all! novv go back home and tell 
Vour neighbors how those oil men shoot a well! 



THE FIRE-WrilSTLE.* 



In the darkness of tiie night. 

Silence reigning everywhere, 
We are 'wakened in a fright 
By a cry upon the air 
Like some dying soul's despair; 
Calling, calling from a distance; 
Pleading, praying for assistance 
Sighing, crying, soft and low 
In a sadness more than human 
Like the last deep ci-y of woe 



* This composition is an attempt to reproduce the sensa- 
tions aroused at night by the "Wild Cat" Whistle, used in 
many places as a fire-alarm. 



THE FIRE-WHISTLE. 



Fro.Ti the heart of some lost woman! 
Oh! the depths of bitterness 
In that strug-gle of distress, 
Moaning-, 
Groaning-, 

Wresllinfj there — 
Fighting- for a draug'ht of airl 
Sobbing-, 
Throbbing-, 

As for l.'ieath 
In the gasping hoar of death! 
Till our listening spirits bleed 
For that suffering" creature's needl 



Hear the call rise liij-h and hig-her 
Lilte the ravMg-e of the tire! 
Almost frantic grows the air 
With that startling warning thi-re 
From the spirit of despair; 

Sounding on thnse houi-s of slumber 
Like the resonance of thunder 
Turning to the rad eking laugh' 
Of a cyclone in its wrath! 
Then a howling. 
And a g-rowling 
Sounds about us o'er and o'er. 
Like a hungry lion's roar. 

While the cry comes tlirough the air 
Of some victim in his lair! 
Oh, that shrill, shrill cry for mercy 
From a throat all parched and thirsty! 
Oh, that piercing, piercing shriek. 
That would make the strongest weak! 
It might be delirium's fear 
When the pestilence is neai, 
For the fury .jf that scream 
It its madness well might seem 
Wrung from some demented dream 



THE FIRE-WHISTLE. 113 



Muttering, 
Sputtering", 
Hissiug there 
All its curses on the air! 
Jang'ling' 
Wrangling 
In the fold. 
Of some lustj- vampire's held 
Till the clashing 
And the crashing 
Of those shrieks upon the wind, 
Almost madden us who listen 
Till the eyes of Vengeance glisten 
And we ihink, "I, too have sinnedj" 



Yet the threat'nings fiercer roll 
'J'ui-riiDg to some fiend's howl 
And a long, blood-eurdliog hoot 
From some angrj' demon's throat 
^eeras to turn the night-air red 
With the gore of murdered dead! 
Oh! the iioiror of that sound 
As it echoes ail around 
Where the soulh of men are found! 
Oh! the terror of that screech! 
It might ahnost seem to reach 
With its wild uneartiily cries. 
Where the fire of Hades lies! 
Sure that maniacal strain 
Issues from some madjman's brain. 
For it seems a fiery yell 
From the very mouth of Hell! 
And demoniac 1 1 eyes 
From the daritness seesn to rise. 
While a diabolical leer 
bounds within our very eai". 



114 THE FIRE -WHISTLE. 



And a profune in>i>rec;ition 
Settles over all the naticn 
Till the ilames of Uell surround us. 
And the world of men around as 
Seem but devils where ibi-y be. 
While the jeeriuj^ 
And the sneeringr 

Of the ghouls in their g-lee 
Echo tbroayh lliat tortnring^ nifj-ht 
Like some s'l'^'i* iin>^l j^ho.^Lly sprit 
And we fi'el ft-e understand 
All the loriiienis of the diimned" 



Swelling", 
Yelling, 
On and on, 
Soon it siuUs in anguish down. 
And it seems to softly rave 
Like the requiem o'er a grave. 
And with low reverberation 
Do its monodies yet surL'e 
Like the mourners' lamentation 
lilending with the funeral dirge! 
Then a long moan of despairl 
And p sharper nole of air — 

Like a muttervid maledietiorj 
Of some savage hiding there, 
And throughout the awful sadness 
Comes a fiendish cry of gladness 

As the painful changes roll. 
Like the chuckling voice of Satan 

O'er the ruin of a soul! 
Oh, he gloats in all his glory 
Though the fields so grim and gory 
Ijashiug, while he laughs, the tenants 



MY CREED. 116 



Of that hideous laki; of penance 
Sliil they swell and swell, ana swell. 
In a long heart-rending' knell 
Till they die away in sadness 

In the whispering of the ghouls. 
And the thrilling note of madness 
In its wailing of lost soulsl 
Oh, our brains are fired with visions 
That have found us in tliat fright; 
And we cower beneath the bedding 

Shuddering at the sound and sight, 
Praying, "God help any creature 
Who is shelterless to-night J" 



MY CREEI). 

•'As other men have creed, so have I mine,"' 
Theodore Tilton. 

Nothing is common — the hand of God 

Hath modelled the lowest in earth's domain; 
He hath fashioned to suit Him the meanest clod. 

And all that defiles is the human stain; 
lie hath mingled the elements wisely and well; 

And defieth the greatest to re-create, 
For the masterly efforts that seek the spell 

Can only imperfectly imitate. 
There is something grand that will ever lurk 

In all that to our weak eyes seem crude, 
For He who completed the handiwork 

Hath looked upon it and called it good! 

Nothing is graceless — all Nature's own 



116 MY CHJSED. 



Has so:m vhjra -.i line that is par.3 in\ f I'.r, 
For the Ma.sler-liiJ.nd liiictd upon every stone, 

And left some mark of His pencil there. 
You may seek to copy tlie snnseL's hues, 

Butsomethinor beyond your reach is t'otmd, 
Till in awe tlie arlisl removes his htioes 

To acknowlefig'e lie stands upon holy groiuid. 
In the sin-dyed soul ihere abides s'ime sparic 

Of a thought divine thht is hidden there, 
For the likeness of (Jod cannot quite depart. 

And the germ bespeaks, that it t)nce wa.s fair. 

Nothing- is W()RTHM'>g — ihe Gi^d who p'anned, 

A boundless univeise, isnew His art; 
And every atom thai left His hand 

Hath in His service a vital part. 
We tear up the weed and we throw it, by; 

We frown wlien the tliistle and tares appcai'. 
While someone beside us itiay pine and die 

Unconscious of remedies placed so near. 
The mind of man in its narr.ivv cell 

Finds out so slowly what (iod hath w^i-ouyht, 
And the old earth keep^th ih'! secret well. 

But in God's own time it will all ba taui^ht. 
Even the weakest and lowiie.st life 

Hath a work liiat no one else can do. 
And the smallest hand in the battle's strife 

Hath its own particular mission, loo. 
There's a niche prepared for us each and all, 
And a work laid out for our liands alone', 
And we shall not hear the last great call 
Till the work assigned has been fully done. 



Nothing is L)ST — not the smallest grain 
Of G) I's great field will be lost to Him; 

Tiiroa:4'h llie course of ages it .shall remain. 
Till the wu.ulerful harvest is garnered in. 



3VTY CREED. 



Thr oug'h a millioQ forms may the ato as pass, 

And back llirough the million forms ag'aiu, 
Km ttiey eucli sliali he pan of the one greal mass 

So iontj as the eai'lh and the lieavons remain. 
E'en ihe Utopian dieams of old, 

Tiiai cam > soquiclcly, and quitklj' passed, 
Have not been lorii, but in God's sure hold 

.Snail iili be .sweeny tiiltilled at last. 

Notiiin.Y is .MK V.NI.VG /<;s.i — here and there, 

Are frairmeuLs of life thai seem incomplete. 
Some !>uddf u meeting, some fleeting' eare, 

Or a slrant,''ei's faee that awiiile we greet. 
We say '"A sirange tiling liappened to day!" 

Then turn aside, and as .soon forget! 
But we liiile know wliat we Careless say, 

For nolliing has evL^r "•happened" yet! 
Each little fragment, tiujugh small it be, 

Hus a part completing in God's great plan. 
And in the perfected web we will see 

How lie guided the destinies of man, 
Methinks throughout life's vicissitude, 

'Twere far more easy to be content. 
If we only mijre surely under.stood 

That God hatli fixed our environment. 

Nothing is ii )i'KL'':ss--i.hou^h h ir 1 words parii, 
And the boundless ocean rolls between, 

God's hand may guide the heart to heart 

And the future be all that the past has been. 

The vilest soul ma.y again be pure, 

For in man, who was made in the image of God 

His faintest breath shall endure — endure- 
To whisper ot hope in the foulest clod. 

Nothing is VAIN — not a word or thought 

Shall ever be utterly thrown away. 
But under God's guidance shall all be brought 

To bring forth fruit some appointed day. 
Not a cheeing smile, not a kindly deed. 



TXLY CHEED. 



Not a sing-le note of a hopeful strain, 
lUit, we Jshall find in soine hour of need 

Was not to be allogetlier in vain. 
The sincere resolve you so soon forg-ot, 

The effort tiiat seemed .so barren of frnit, 
Shall know its effect in some happier lot, 

For the Source of all Goodness was at the root! 
Even our moments of joy and pain 

Have come as angels to work His will. 
And when ihev have vanislied iind gone again 

The prints of tlieir feet shall be with us still 
Tiiei-e is no g(ji)ti impulse in man to-day. 

Tliere is no ti'ue yeiruing, no noble ai n, 
But God hath inspired in His own sweet way, 

AqlI no thought of His can be all in vain! 

At,i> eakth is kin — tiiereis but one God, — 

Tlie great All-Father of life below 
Wiio with human feet tliough our pathways trod, 

As an Elder IJrother our trials to know, 
One law is spoken for high and low; 

A law universal — tiie law of love; 
And tiie lives of all men in one current flew, 

To the fountain of love in the Heart above. 



Nothing is pekfect — God leaves some lack 

That we may not find the eai-th complete. 
But may feel some need that will draw us back. 

To a place of rest at the nail-piereed feet; 
We should not dream of a better laud 

If here perfection were widely given. 
And the secret of all we will understand 

A\'hen we tind its couuteroart in Heaven! 



Nothing's i.mt'ossiblk— God's great power 

Hath known no limit on land or sea; 
And none can conceive in th^s early hour 
The marvelous wonders that yet shall be; 



MY CREED. Hi) 



For ProfTfess walks with a inammoLh stride 
When God's omnipoteuce wields the rod; 

r^et the weakness of man in His power abide, 
For all things are possible wiih God! 



Nothing- is :Moutat.— no leaflet sere 

But bads ag-ain in some brighter day; 
Noi a flower goes but to re-appear 

With the same sweet grace for another May. 
Our words and deeds sliall live on and on, 

When these frail bodies have ceased to be, 
And our lives yel speak wheu oar soals have gone 

To enter on immortality I 



The one great \nck in ihe world to-day, 

Is abiding faiih in Uie love of (Jod; 
And a perfect tra st in a Father's way 

W.ien thai way leadeth beneath the rod, 
Oh, the life tliat is hjst in Eternal Love 

Is ihe only life that is sweet and whole, 
And the heart tinds joys that we know not of 

VVlien it lies submissive in God's control. 
When the human in mitn to divine submits, 

Then warring and wrangling wUl have to cease; 
Till the iiandof tlie Master-Love flrmly knits 

All hearts in a universal peace. 
There is much that's corrupt and there's much impure, 

And only one Conqueror wot we of, — 
Whose power and courage forever endure 

Till the universe sways to the power of love! 
And the hour must come and the day must dawn 

If we anchor our faiLii lo ilie surest rod. 
When the evil of Earth shall have melted and gone. 

And man be once mors in tlie image of God! 
When all shall be purged from the world of men, 

That oft'endeth tlie Purity shining above. 
And all shall be goodness and virtue again 
Throuo-h the might of the King who is Love in Love 



HDW THEY GROW. 



riOW THEY GROW. 

"C cr Eider th e lilies of the field hew they grc-w-." 

Matthew G: '^ts. 

"The lilios" — "how they pri>\v'"I 
T)o tiiey witli inunnuriD<.''s anil di^ennttMit 
Shrink from the. mission on whidi the3' were s^cnt 

To blossoiH liefe lu'low'? 

Ai'e tliey not sii t isfii^d 
, Jnst where they siund tlieii- mission to fulliil"^ 
To jrrow and bloom as is the Fiitl)er"s will 
7{y hill or fiver side? 

Yes, they are well content; 
They raise to llim tiieir heads in voiceless pj-aise 
That He has placed them In such pleasant ways. 
And such brijrht sunshine sent. 

Their fratrrance fills the aii-, 
And scents the space around the slender stalk, 
Tliat some one, in his solitary walk. 
May .say the earth is f lir. 

Tliey know not they are t'iiii-; 
They ouiy strive to do thei.* duty here. 
Not thinking how, in form, they may appear 

As they His message beai\ 

They stand so humbly sweet. 
And speak to all of pence, and trust, and love. 
Turning our thought from eartli to thing's above 

God's goodness to repeat! 

They know His way is best; 
That where He places them 'tis best to grow. 
That when He clothes them, they are better so — 

They leave to Him the rest. 



THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD. '131 



Ah! may we all not turn, 
We who are murtnuring- at onr Eeayen-sent lot, 
And from the lilies in their humble spot 

A needed lesson learu? 

Why say we, when He calls, 
"1 wonder what the world would have to say 
if 1 should follow Him that humble way?" — 

'Tis then our spirit falls. 

We ask how we'd appear 
In worldly eyes if we such steps should take; 
But is it for thkiu smile our lives we make? — 

iSeek we their words of cheer? 

Surely He knows the best. 
And He who clothes the lilies loves us more, 
Places our feet, apportions us our store, 

As we may most be blest. 

Oil! let us take our stand, 
Just as the lilies in their simple sphere. 
That we — when all fulfilled our mission here, — 

May sit at His right hand. 



THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD- 

"Ye are the lifcht of the world. "--Math 6; 14 

Christ hath said, "I am the light!" 
And we marvel not to hear; 

He, indeed, hath blessed with &ight 
All the blindness of a sphere 

Where seemed everlasting oight! 



IHE LIGHT OF TEE WORLD. 



Now He saith, "\k are th<- li<:]ii !" 
And we marvel at the word; 

We, who stray so far from n^ht 
That the name Himself pn^terreci 

iSeems a mockery iu His sight. 

ARK we liffhl? — then lunvV just so 
As the .noon appHin-s at niglit, 

Which, ilself is dark we know, 
lint reflietf* tiie bcilliant li^'iit 

Of the snn'.s eternal g-low. — 

Thus are we — no light we hear, 
Of ourselves — ah, no, not one! 

Yet the Father saith we share 
In the fi'lory of the tion, 

And His he ivenly image wear. 

IJut, the day doth lose the sun 

Ere tlie moon hath light to give: 

So from earth the Christ Lath gone 
Ere His likeness we <!oukl live 

That His will might yet be done'I 

What doth light?--Makes mystery clear 
Well, the word of God is ours; 

Do we make its truths appear 
In the light of all their powers? 

Nay? — then vain our mission here! 

What doth light? — Points out the way 
Which the darkness hath obscured^ 

Do we point to perfect day 

Souls that are in blackness lured 

Striving from its sin to stray? 

Litrht atlraets! — how many souls 

Are attracted by our beam? 
Some, alas! seek other goals! 

We repel them — can that gleam 
Be the light the Christ extols? 



THE LIGHT OF THE WOULD- 123 



I/ipht reveals defects! — do we 
iiy the lio-hl of our owq lives 
Liead our fellow-man to see 

All ttie fault that iu hiin thi'ivvis 
Ami tlie i^oodaess that naiffht be? 



Oft the liglit is dull and dim, 

Not well-trimjd, or partly tilled; 

IJetter than uo li;^ht for Him, 
iJ iL II )t. ;i iif vV II, if ) li III ^viile.l 

Who would till it t) ihe brim! 



Oft ttie lijrht we tiiinli is truth 
Seems lo send misleading beams, 

Aad "five false views to the youth 
Who was drawn iu by its g'leams 

As the candle draws the mothi 



Oft the li^rht is hidden low 

Where its rays few lives can cheer; 
Those are better who can know 

That it shines obscurely liere; 
Sat He doth not will it sol 



Ah! how miserably we fail 

Iq the mission He hath givenl 

How deficient and how pale 

Are the lights we hold for heavcQ 

The world's darkness to assail! 



Let us pray for all the lifjlit 
That is well for us to bear! 

Let us keep it burning bright, 
That we yet may have a share 

In dispersing sinful night! 



L24 THREE CHRISTMAS EVES. 



TriREE CHRISTMAS EVES. 

A tale of Three Sorro-ws. 

Twas Christmas Eve — two mothers sat 

Their babes upon their Itnee: 
Due of the twain of thonahifol mien. 

The other liyrht and free; 
While a third was there wilii empty arms,- 

A childless wife was she. 

Thev were children of one family. 

Those women tz-alhcied t.tiere: 
The first was i,Taver and serene — 

The second, y<nmy and fair, — 
While tlie ihin?, of ;/eiit,le. winsome cast 

With neillier did eo{np,ire. 

In silence sit those women tliree, 

And swift the evening- flies; 
The first one's child in slumber rests. 

Tile other frets and cries. 
Tlie niother chafes b'.'i>eath the care. 

And often deetily sighs. 

Metliinks her nature was not fcrmeci 

Ti> have a care so deep — 
It wearied lier to hold so long 

The babe who would not sleep; 
At last she cried out pettishly, 

"He's sueh a trial to keep'." 

Again a silence — deep and long; 

The child grew quiet, too; 
The fair young- mother for a while 

A little rest time knew; 
Then spake the third — the childless one. 

As only she cjuld do: 



THREE CHSISTMAS EVES. 125 



"It would not be a trial to me 

That little form to hold; 
I long within my empty arms 

Your treasure to enfold; 
The care of him were worth to me 

Fai" more than g"eras or gold!" 

Again a .silence — tliey who held 

'IMieir babes upon their knee 
CiiispeJ closer yet the little forms. 

And shuddered meaningly, 
The blaze grew dim^ the midnight hour 

Was pissi^d unconsciously. 



A year had passed — 'twas Chri.^tm is Ev^; 

The sister.^ sat again. 
Around another Yule-tide log 

Whose light wa> clear and plain; 
And two were tliero with empty unna, 

And one wa.s ^u-aihed wiLii pain. 

The youthful inothiT's carelesss lip 

Had found the cup of woe: 
Iler little boy was sleeping now 

Beneath tue Carisimas snow, 
His little cries forev^jr stilled — 

No trial to keep him now. 

ll^ir f )r.n was biut, — her face was drawa 

And fevered was her brain; 
No voice eouid speak one hoar's relie'". 

All sympathy was vain; 
At last siie wot her lips to >paak — 

Her voice .vas choked with pain: 

"The punishin mt that comes to me 
Is more than I can bear — 



126 THREE CHRISTMAS EVES. 



Oh, if I liad my boy to-night. 

He would not be a care! 
I did not mean to fret — tlie words 

Escaped me unaware. 

"The world is blank — liow can I live ■ 

Without that little boy! 
How could I ever let his cries 

My weary nerves annoy! 
Oh! he mig-ht fret the whole day now 

And I would count it joy!" 

She shook with sobs — but not a tear 

To ease that tortured neart! 
The sisters loolced upon her grief 

And felt their tear-drops start 
Then asked of Heaven to seud some word 

That mig^ht relief impart. 

The first to speak was she who held 

Her babe upon her knee: 
She of the calm and thoug'htful brow 

Whose face 'tn-as rest to see, 
She held her child in closer clasp 

And murmured tenderly: 

"'Twas God, poor h.?arl. that took your child 

'Tis true, we wonder why! 
But surely you can trust to Him 

The life He blessed you by; 
Be sure 'twas all through such a love 

As you know not, nor I!" 

The poor bereaved young' mother sat 

fi^IIer head bowed in her hand; 

She heard the words as one who hears 

But does not understand. 
Ag'ain deep silence settled o'er 

The little mourning- band. 



TH3.ee CHRISTMAS EVES. 127 



At last, vvilji voice so sweet and lo .v 
It seemed the night-wnd's sigh, 

"I'lie other spake — the childless one — 
Waoss blood raa wai-m an i hig'h — 

fltii- lieart seemed formed for mother-love 
liiii Vxod had passed lier by. 

'Ah! he is vvailinsj', dear, for you, 
And Heaven has one link m )re 

To bind your brolcen spirit here 
To the Eternal Shore! 

Oa! think of nim as one who is 
'Not lost, but g'one before!' 

\Vi' cannot clioisrt our lot in lifii, — 

VViiat u-,e to qnesLion why? 
Yon le richer yeL tiiaii I, yiia know, 

With treasnre in the sUv I 
You're 'mottier to an anj^el' now — 

No child to lose have I!" 

The flood-gates opened — with a rnsli 
The tears come thick and fast; 

The sorrow of another's heart 
Mad toached her own at last. 

She wept until tiie bitterest hour 
Of that life— grief had passed. 



Now thirty years are left behind; 

'Tis Chistmas Eve once more: 
Again the three are sitting 'round 

The fire as in tlie yore; 
Bat all novy sit with folded arms 

As one ha I done before. 

The mother's arm that loosed their clup 
So many years ago 



128 THREE CHKISTMAS EVES, 



Had neviM- hA \ a ehikl i^'^ain 

To ease iiuiL awful blo>v, 
Bui ail her lile liei- iieart had cried 

Fur joys she euiild not know. 

The pain had left her face more fair. 
Had made lier heart more pure; 

Those empty arms had twined around 
The cross to find a cure. : 

And txod liad spolieii words of peace. 
And taught hei' loeudiir.^. 

The ctiihiless one was childless slili. 

And _vet her Iieart was lilled; 
Her love for all the human race 

Had many a sorrow stilled, 
And oft had helped a fallen soul 

On tinner rocSi to bailii. 

'Twas she whose arms had held their o.vn 
Who mourned tliat Christmas nijifhl; 

Her soul was racked with hopele.'-s grief 
That cruslied her with its might; 

For he, the latl whom all these }'ear>. 
She prayed to lead aright, 

Had fallen aeep in blackest sin 

And gone beyond recall; 
Was in his youth a cast-away 

Behind a prison wall. 
Small wonder that the woman's luart 

Was overflowed with s'all. 

To-night, lier memory wandered back 

And stirred to life again 
The smouldering ember.s of a past 

Of mingled peace and pain; 
She tarael to tho.se who knjw her griif, 

l>at tried to speak in vain. 



THREE CHRISTMAS EVES. 



They uaderstoo;!: their sad eyes met; 

Alas! wliat word couid send 
Oae ray of iig-ht into the heart 

That sin had served to rend ! 
Helpless they bowed before a <,''rief 

They could not comprehend. 

Then she whose child was with the blest 
Looked on that stricuen soul, 

And saw tlie love that took from her 
The child while pure and whole 

And kept him safe where waves of sin 
A bout him could not roll. 



And, too, the heart that knew no child- 

lielield tiiat voiceless woe. 
And knew tliat nothinj? tono-ue could say 

Would ease that bitter blow: 
At last she c">uld thank God that she 

Such o-rief shou d never know. 

'Tis hard to live our lives alone 

When God ordains it so; 
'Tis harder yet to give our own 

Whom He hath called to g-0; 
But to know our child is a fallen soul 

Is by far the bitterest blow. 

'Tis God alone can mark our paths — 

O let us not complain! 
He knows how much our lives may bear 

Of pleasure or of pain; 
And if we trust it all to Him, 

It shall not be in vain. 



AN ANGJEL-VISITANT. 



AN aNgel-visitaNt 

A Fragment 

Gently as the morn draws nisii, 
To a sombre, sleeping- earLli, 

Came the angels from lln* sky 
And a human soul found biilh. 

Softly as the wins' of dove 
Beats the air in wanton phi}', 

Angel-ieet retiirn above, 

liearing- mother's soul u\^av. 

Gc pw the child for three short years, 

But his liny infant hand 
Seemed to reach beyond tlie spheres 

Some one's clasped in spiiii-laud. 

E'er his eyes were fixed above, 

Always seerainyly to see 
Visions of eternal love 

Where his spirit yearned to be. 

One hand in his father's lieie; 

One, in mother's, far above; 
Seemed to hold tl«eir two hearts near 

In a bond of deathless love! 

But the light within his eyes 

Grew each day more bright and clear; 
Fi 'ini r one hand clasped the skies 

Looser grew the other here. 

Softly as the sun's last ray 
Did his star of life grow dim, 

And the matins of his day 
Blended with the vesper hymn! 



MOTHER THOUGHTS. 13 1 



Comes a whisper throufich the air 

As the father sits alone; 
"He is with his mother there; 

Siie has called him — he has gone! ' 

AlOTriER -THOUGHTS. 

Rondeau. 

I 
What shall I say? What shall I say 
When all those quL'stions come some day 
From tiny lip-; and from my home, 
The baby goi^s no more to come 
And the growinjf g-irl has come to stay? 

The first sweet dew must pass away, 
And knowiedffe will assert its sway: 
Dear God, my lips are strang'ely dumbi 
What shall I say? 

Oh could I keep her all the way 

As ig-norant as she is today 

Of all the life that can but come, 
And all the sin outside the home! 

Oh, teach me. Father, teach I pray — 
What shall 1 sny? 

II 

What shall I do? What shall I do 
When all the happiness I knew 

In motherhood has strangely flown, 
Because ihe little ones have grown. 
And taken up life's burdens, too! 

Some other love will seem more true 
Than that in batiy-da^'s they knew, 
Some other iieart will chiim its own, 
What shill I du? 



133 A SONG FOR THE LIVING. 



Those tender kisses that I knew 

Shall all be for another, too, 

And all the love that I have known 
Shall pass to hira, and I alone, 

Shall tind the day so full o' rue — 
Wliat shall I do? 

Ill 

^Vllat could I do, if some dark day 
The pattering- feet should wander "way 
And I should miss the clinfjing- touch 
That sometimes hinders me so ranch. 
And all the laughter loud and yay? 

If all those questions ceased some day 
To come up in the baby play, 

And trouble that wee mind so much, 
What could I do? 

AlasI IM then no need to say 
To liltle footsteps, "Run away!" 
Nor, sometimes in my haste, with such 
A quick impatience loose llie touch; 
O, Father. ->pare me this, I pra}' — • 
What could I do? 



A SONG FOR THF- LiVlNS. 

I sang sweet songs for the loved ones gone , 

And poured out llie love of my aching heart; 
I sounde(i the praise of the ssinted oue, 

And dwelt upon every vvinnirig art; 
15 it I thought l>o.v |}i-iz_^d w ailil tiie w»'rds haveb^'oa 

II, id I hey only been sung in the living earl 
And 1 sal 1. •• I'heir reward ihey have entered in! 

I will s'.ng Tor t!ie loved ones with us herel" 



A SONG OF CHEER. 133 



why do we wait Lill Lh^ han Is ar.i ejlJ 

Befoi-e we clasp them so tenderly? 
And why do we hide the look of old 

Till the eyes we love can no longer see! 
Why do we keep back the tender word 

To needlessly pour in the deafened ear? 
And why are our kisses so Ions' deferred 

When ihe dear beloved one is with us here? 

There are friends around us day b}' day, 

As dear as the ones who have passed and j^ront ; 
And how they v.'ould cherish the word we say 

lu lueinory of the departed one! 
Tliere is many a faithful and tender heart 

That is aching for words of love and cheer; 
If we onl\' could spare them a little part 

While still, thank Ood! they are with us here! 

L' ENVOI 

turn we to-day from the loved one gone 
Who needs no more our words of cheer, 

And pour out our hearts to the lonely one— 
The one we love who is with us here! 



A SONG OF CriEER. 

The world sonetimes is dark and drear 

But do not paint it ever so! 
There's always sorrow somewhere near 

Without our adding to its woe. 
The joys of life outweigh the pain, 

And (rod is near us when we call: 
Then let us sing out clear and plain, 

"The world's a good world after all!" 



134 



IN PRAIRIE SKIES. 



The grass is green, the flowers are bright. 

The sky is blue; — now tell it so! 
The birds are voicing' their delight 

So let us, too, sing as we go! 
O sing through tear-drops if you can, 

And your despondencj^ will fall, 
For liappiness is yet for man — 

This woeUVr a good world after all! 

So.Tie one behind may iiear onr strain 

When almost ready to give in, 
Aiid 'witll'new hope catch the lefiain, 

And press on still the fight to win. 
A merry word and lauirhter say 

Well all "the heaviest clouds Hppall, 
So drive yoiir trials and cares away — 

This world's a good world after all! 

L' ENVOI 

So scatter abroad the words of ciieer, 

Laugh, and the world gives back the call; 
Sing, so tl'ie whole wide earth can hear. 
"The world's a good' world after all!" 



IN PRAIRIE SlCIES. 

^'LWKISK. 

A solemn hush has settled over all, 
Unbroken save by waldnjr life afar: 
While here and there peeps out a lonely star 
As loath to fade. Then, slowly, like a pall, 
The darkness lifts as by an unseen hand. 
So gradually we scarcely m irk its way. 
A blend of red and gold athwart the gi'av; 



IN PRAIRIE SKIES. 



While one lone b3:un darts frrn that strip of laud 

.So far across, the broad expanse of earih 

U seems the boni-r of another world. 

1 1, spreads; and more are bii by bit unfurled. 

Until tlie sun. renewin;,' daily birth, 

Appears. Iiis iSo\d f.ice peepins? o'er the gray 

And smiles a ■-reeunff to the new-born day. 

.SuNStrr. 

The golden chariot rides the distant blue, 

And comes nt nio^ht a hbizinj^ blood-red ball 

Of living tire; a roseate flu.^li o'er all 

Tlie western sUy; a brilliant few 

Of sparks of yold are se.ittered through the rose 

Like jewels. Tlie shadows long and longer seem 

A« swiftly falls the otb of day to beam 

On other skies, and seek new workiis. The glows 

Of light departing kindle in the West 

A fire no brush could trace; the purple sky 

Deepens tohlackness as tiie king rides by 

The far horizon, smiling earth to rest; 

While streaks of golden light alone at last 

Remain to speak of glories that have passed. 

Moonlight, 

The just are sleeping. Calm in yonder sky 
The full moon shows a face of perfect peace. 
The hour has come when honest men mast cease 
Their wrangling and lay work and worry by. 
The dome is studded with a million gems, 
With now and then a comet's trail of light; 
IJright gems that rob those jewels of their light; 
That glorify earth's richest diadems. 
Eyes, firmly set to guard a sleeping earth 
Yet what a world of eyil in their view! 



135 



136 TH2 HOLY SHADOW. 



What crimes be-neatli their gnzp nre born anew 
When holy thoughts alone should Pad a birth! 
Those steadfast eyed a wamintj yet should be, 
That we remimber "Tuou God seest me!" 



THE HOLY SHADOW. 

An old leg'end. 

There's a sweet old legend that comes to me 
When I'm weary and heavv-hearted; 

A tale of a country beyond the sea 
Id the days that have long departed, 

Once a dear. old saint in those far-off days. 

Was so noble, and pure, iinti holy. 
That the anguls came from above to gaze 

At the worth of a life so lowly. 

"How is it'.^" they asked, "that mere man can be 

Sog^odly amid such sinniuL'? 
How knows even one such purity 

la a world that is just beg-inninjf?" 

But they found no wonder — he went his wa\', 

Rejoiced to be simply living-; 
He gave as he gained, and day hy day, 

He was loving and all-forgiving. 

His tender smile, and his cheering word. 
And his kindness to all around him, 

Were all to be seen, and all to be heard 
When the wondering angels found him. 

Yet wherever he went, and whatever he did, 
Some burden was made the lighter: 

And he never guessed what a joy he spread 
To make darkened lives grow brighter. 



THE HCLY SHADOW. 13; 



Then the angels said "O God we pray 

For this saint the yift of wonders; 
For his life each hour and his toil each day 

Stamps even our deeds as blunders!'' 

And the Lord replied, "Aye, 1 consent- 
Let him asU wluil he will 'lis yiven!" 

Aii<i the messeng'ers on their mission went, . 
And >p lie : to tlie c lild oi Heaven! 

''Would yon care, "tliey asked, "to have power to heal 
By the toucli of your hands?"— "Ah no! 

Tiiat is God's own worii, and I do not feel 
It were well lo he gif'ud so."' 

"Would you like the power to convert lost souls 
And res ore Iroin their <,'-uill and sinning-?"' — 

"Nay! that is the mission the angel holds; 
My work is a weak beginning. 

"Let me have God's gr-ace— that is all I crave; 

What more cou d be moitul's blessing?" 
And ihe angels grew perple.\ed and grave 

At this meek old saint's confessing. 

"You must ask a mirac'e," still they plead, 

"Or one wV\ be forced upon you! 
Some power the world knows not," — they said, 

"Tills the worth of your past hath won you!" 

"Very well," said he, "may my life be true, 

With the love of my God o'er-flowing 
If it wonder must be, grunt that I may do 

A great deal of good, unknowing!" 

Then the angels marveled how that might be, 

At last, this plan revealing: 
When his shadow fell not where he could not see, 

It should bear the power of healing. 



EN MASIUE. 



So it came to pass, as we walked iilon-,''. 
That his fehadort' restored tlie ailiii<i ; 

Turned ^'rief lo joy, and tears to song'; 
Removed every earthly failing; 

Gave fresh, clear water to dried-np brooks, 
And new bloom to the withered flower; 

Renewed in tlie cheek its youthful lojks, 
In the uged frame, new power. 

Thus he spread new life, Ihouf^h he knew it not 

As the star- its light bestowincr; 
Thus he g'loj-ified earth's vilest spot 

With his virtue, all unknowing. 

And the people followed day by dfiy, 
Tliat his shadow might enfold them, 

But lliey knew his wi^h, and they went tlieir way, 
And tiie iitirjcle never told liim. 

So about his toil, he went and came, 

Till the place was one verdant meadow, 

And they came to forget his very name. 
And called liim "The Holy Shadow.'' 

This i? the legend that comes to me 
When I'm weary and heavy-hearted — 

This tale of a country beyond the sea 
In the days that have long departed. 



EN MASQUE. 

1 Samuel XVI: 7. 

How oft the life we think so pure, 
Is daric and filled with sin! 

Behind a mask is hid secure, 
The heart so vile within; 



EN MASQUE. 139 



A bold, bad face deceives us all — 
We think the soul sliiues there; 

But G )d, who sees each sparrow fall, 
Can trace each hidden snare. 

Sometimes our nights are filled with grief 

Naught can our woe beguile; 
The niorning brings us no relief. 

And jet we force a smile: 
The world must never know our pain — 

Though tears unbidden start, 
We force them bravely back again!— 

Thank tiod. He knows the heart! 

S :m •'. i.nes a life seeuis black and vile, 

We see no giiodness there; 
We cannot even spare a smile 

To lift that sinner's care; 
Alas! the motive who can know 

Timt led that soul to sin? — 
'Tis God alone who looks below, 

And sees the good within. 

And oft we scorn our daily task; 

We long for something great: 
The world may think we do not ask 

For any higher state; 
But discontent is in the soul, 

However calm the brow. 
And God can look 'neath the control. 

And all our longings know. 

The world looks on from day to day. 

And watches word and deed; 
Too quick the smiting word to say. 

Or evil thoughts to read; 
And yet its searching, blighting eye 

Can oulj' guess a part; 
Tis only God who reigns on high, 

Can read the hidden heart. 



THH MAN OF GALILEE. 



Tlieii let US to ourselves be true; 

The worlit may criticize, 
liiit what may its opiiiioti do. 

As formed ihroufjh human eyes? 
Let it auplaud, let it coiideinn, 

It only sees a part; 
We yet may win our diadern, 

For God can see the heart. 

(1896.) 



THE mfkfi OFGALILEE. 

Amid His tierce oppressors 

Hi^ stood lit Pilate's side, 
And tiiey cried. ''Away with- Jesus! 

Let llim be crucified!" 
But His coiiracfe did not Bee, 

Tlioui^h the end Hec)ald foresee, 
And He meekly bore their hatred. 

The Man of Galilee. 

Many false accusations 

They brought aofainst Him there. 
But His face ne'er lost its g"lory. 

As His lips moved in prayer, 
riiey thought it strange to see 

How silent He could be, 
For He made to them no answer. 

The Man of Galilee. 

Upon His holy forehead. 

They placed a thorny crown. 
And o'er His blessed features, 

The sacred blood ran down. 
He Unew H? soon would be 

From all His anguish free, 
And his crown would then be golden, 

The Man of GaHlee. 



THE MAK OF OALILEE. l<aa 



Thej' brought the cross to Jesus 

That Bariibbas should fill. 
And without the slightest murmur 

He bore it up the hill. 
Though cold and wet was He, 

No sigh, no moan there be. 
As He sank to earih and trembled 

The Man of Galilee. 



The mob still urged Hun forward, 

Till He reached Cavalry, 
Tlien unto the cross thej" nailed Him, 

Think friend, fur you and mel 
Tiiough suffeiiug agony. 

He raised the cruel tiee 
And endured it all with meekness. 

The Man of Galilee. 



''Twixt heaven and earth suspended, 

H's sacred lips did sue, 
■"b'ather, I pray, foigive them, 

Tiiey know not what they do," 
The ]»eople all could see 

That (cou's own Son was He, 
When He whispered, "It is fiuishedJ" 

Tlie Man of Galilee, 

Joseph begged tli-e Saviour's body 

And laid it in the tomb, 
Kut He rose from all its horrors. 

Conquering death and gloom; 
He who walked upon the sea; 

Had gained the victory; 
Anil He now reigns King of Glory, 
The MliuoI (■Jalilee. 



42 A TALE OF THE CHRIST. 



A TALE OF THE CHRIST» 

Dh, we ponder the life of ou<r S^aviar, 
And our hearts burn within as we read. 

How lie spre;id to the hvsinblebt His favor.. 
How He jrearned o'er the lowest in need, 

We are thrilled evc-n- v^et by the sloi-y 
Of the. luiraclus diuly lie wrouo'iii;. 

We partalce even now of His j/lory 

As we dwell ou the le.ssoii.s He tau,'bt. 

Those were irtarvi;lou.s deed^ that tlie Lord c3i;<' 
Tiiut with awe and with love werecalU 

Bat there'.s oraetliat i& imreeorded 
That appeals to me more than aH, 

It is told kovv one day in ihe spring-time- 
Some children were busy at play. 
When they found in. the t>eat of the sutLS-hiii-e 
A poor little Uirddyii)^ lay. 

Tiiey l»ad wounded it, carelessly throwing 
Some l>ri„' hi-colbred stones ihroug-h the tree; 

N.)w th:>y lau^fhed as its life-blood was fl-jwini.^. 
And cau off ag.iin in theii-glee. 

Till one little iivaiden espied it. 

And came at its last I'eeb-le c-ies. 
And knelt in ihe green <^rass beside it. 

The pityip.i^- leacs in her eyes. 

Tiien "ti&said. in that sweet, tender stt)ry 
Ho .V a lioy came ;in I fnuid her in tears — 

A Hoy in the sprinj.;' of His ^iory. 
T;ie ay-e <if the uiiiJeu la veara. 



TRTJST. 143 



lie bent, filled with pily, above it. 

And took the poor bird in His hand — ■ 
ile loved as He o'nly could love it, 
Its pain He could well understand. 

Then He whispered in tenderness to it. 

And He breathed in the wee gasping«throat. 
And the breath of His life thrilling- throug-li it 

Came out in one glad, jo3'ous note. 

One moment it oratefully fluttered 

On the palm of the Boj 's gentle hand. 
And a thrill of thanksgiving it uttered 
Ere it flew away over the land. 

Ahl its voice has: rievv no'Uss in its singing. 

Its plumage with new beauties shine, 
inspired, while so happily winging. 

By the breath of the Christ-Child divine. 

And the children who gathered around Him, 
Knelt low, ere the Hoy had passed by; 

Though they knew not what spell it was bound them. 
Cried ■•^jaster," but could not tell why! 

This then, of the wonders the Lord did. 
That with awe and with love we recall. 

Is tlie one that is unrecorded 

That appeals to me more than all. 



TRUST. 

I know not if the way I tread 
Be dark or very l)right; 

I know not whether most severe 
Or easy is the figlit; 

I only knovv my S-iviour guides, 
And al vvuya guides aright. 



144 . IDOLATRY. 



I'll murmur not if oft I find 
The thorn within the flower; 

For He who guides me all the way 
Has healing' in His power. 

How can 1 murmur wliile I've Christ 
To bhare eucii fjloomy hour! 

May, I can trust my life to Him — 
All His great power is mine; 

And thou<>h the path be rough, I neer 
Will murmur or repine. 

While I am guided onward by 
A hand that is divine. 

O Father, lead me all the way 

Until my i-ace is run, 
Lest 1 should stray away from Thee 

Before luy crown is won: 
And help me through the clouds to say, 

"Thy will, not mine, be done!" 

Teach me to lean upon Thine arm, 

And hourly follow Thee; 
To meekly follow all Thy paths, 

Whale'er my cross may be; 
And realize that Thou dost know 

Just what is best for me! 
(1893.) 



IDOLATRY 

Long aeo, I had an idol made of clay, 
And I worshipped at its altar every day; 
Jesus came and sought admission to my heart; 
liul this thing of clay poivadcd every part. 



IDOLATRY. 145 



Had one c.iUed me then a heathen I'd have cried 
Oat ag"aii)st the accusation and denied; 
Hut uo Payan e'er bowed lower at the shrine 
Of an imapi'e than my spirit buwed to mine 

I was blind in adoration of this clay. 
And I seemed to see less clearly every day; 
1 lost sig'ht of my Creator in the gloom, 
And could only see the creature in its bloom, 

I5ut the Saviour came in mercy to my soul. 
Where so \ou<x that molten god had held control; 
And iie showed how false the pathway that I trod. 
And he said, "A soul must worship only GodI" 

Then I turned my eyes upon Him, and could see 
All the glories of the Lord who died for me; 
Tiiei ni}' iiaruened soul grew tender, and with moan 
Cried I "Help me. Lord, to worship Thee alone!" 

Then how quickly Fie found enir.ince to my heart. 
And that, false god I had loved He tore apart; 
While He showed me all its meanness in the clay. 
And He said, "Xc more. Beloved, look that way!" 

So I kept my eyes on Jesus till His Jove 
Filled my heart with sucli a rapture from ab ove. 
That I gazed in wondering scorn upon the clay 
That had led my heart from such a love astray! 

Then I gathered up the fragments of that clod,-- 
And I buried them forever 'neath the sod, — 
For I felt I could not throw them lightly by. 
But I turned, and lo: forgot that they were nigh! 

Now ray heart is ever bowing at a slirine, 
vVhere I know that all is holy and divine. 
Ood has rid my heart of idols, and I know 
Thai He cleansed it of that worship long ago. 



146 GLAD TIDINGS. 



Fatherl now I fall before Thee on my knee! 
Do Thou keep all earthly idols far from me! 
I have caught one glimpse of Thee, Lord, an d I can 
Never turn aside apfain lo look at man. 
(1895.) 



GLAD TIDINGS. 

Fly away, 
Ang-el of light. 
To the courts 
Of g-loi-y! ■ 
Speak to all the 
Shiniug- host 
Of the earth's 
(jrreat story! 
Bid the millions 
Gathered there 
Banish tlioughts 
Of sadness, 
For on earth 
A sinner n-on 
Fills all hearts 
With gladness! 

Tell to all 

The wond'rous tale 
How poor and 
B'orsaken, 
He knelt at the 
Savionr's feet 
And by Him 
Was taken; 



QliAD TIDINGS. 147 



Tell that mother 
Now witli God 
That her only 
Treasure, 
Has at last 

Surrendered nil, 
And has found 
True pleasure. 

Ang'ei, fifo, 

The tale unfold, 
Move the hearts 
To pit3'. 
Of the o;-lorious 
Throng- above 
In the 'irolden 
City! 
Bid the court 

Of Heaven rejoice! 
Fill their hearts 
With sing-ing'! 
While above the 
Shouts of joy 
Heavenly balls 
Are ri ageing! 

One more soul 

Hath found true rest- 
Oiie who long 

Had souglit it, 
]5ut who, when 
The spirit called, 
Bitterly 

Had fought it 
Yes; to all 

The tidings bear — 
Fly away, 

Hright ang-ell 



148 AN EVERY-DAY HERO. 



And to each 

On Ileaven'sstreet, 
Sound the great 
Evangel! 

(Ks<»:5.) 



AN EVERY PAY HERO. 



You in;i_y boasl if 3'ou will of the heros of old, 
A'ld (.Ivvjll 0:1 some sLory thai ofceii is lold; 
You inaj'' p liiiL deeds of valour in letters lliat, g-low 
In honor of noble ones now lyin^' low; 
1 sinuf of a hero no poet hath sunff. 
A hero as brave and as noble as young', 
Whofie soul even now in ttie hey day of j'outh 
Stands firmly revealed in its manhood and truth. 

You see thai proud form yivin;,'- others ih > sh i ne, 
So Ooldly concealing its weakness of framj; 
Y'ou see the dark locks falling over the orokV 
That add even mure to the pallor below: 
You see the'dark eye filled with fire at a word 
As uy .-. >.u ; -.a Id i^i im j ilse c/ie 1 -ep s )al i ^ soirr j 1, 
And yoa never would guess that tlie hand of dejihii 
Had dared yet to thi-eaten this hero of mine. 

You are waiting to hear what brave deed lie hath doue!- 

Knovv, then; he above all the rest, is a son — 

The son cf a mother whose idol is he. 

And for whom lie appears as a hero to me I 

To give up wiiat most of the world's gifts we cr;ive 

For the sake of atiotlier— that call ye not brave"' 

To ptiil from the lips the yet untasled bliss — 

Can yoa tell of more hcr6ism than tjiis? 



AN EVERY-DAY HERO. 149 



Y );i inivsmile if yon will— ho w >aKi, tio, if li ^ _' lessed 
Ttiat 1 deMPi^'l liiin of aiiv rnotv- vv.irili thin Lli« resti 
Hut [ hold th it that mother is I'lcher tlian qiieea 
In the truest devotioji riiy eyes have yet seen. 
Th n-e's uot mu'jh of jrtvatness ihere now to be seen 
riiiles-^ yoit cm see whit he unee might iiave been-, 
T I !!• )'s 11 >t ni I ;h of .; (urire thit iio.v i> displayed 
L'liles-i you cin K.toW all the p ii't, h.^ Iialh plaj^ed. 

Th'ce u-;is onc^ a brigiit fiitnni tiiat seemed just aheaii, 
'I'h T; weri^ w )nierfiil heij^'lits where his fo )lstepi were led 
'I'tierj were rich aspirations within his Bnn clasp, 
A id ih ! yi'oal of his aims was so tiear to his j^'rasp; 
'I'her'i wa^ u''ii>fv', inde.^d, for his portion-- but stavl 
Wiiere ar;? all those hopes and achievemeals to-day? — 
Ahl g-oiie in the dnst. of oblivion t.i lie: 
At tlie need of a inothe;-. ho. brushed theui all byl 

Thei-e w;is once, too, a love that iiad brij^li tened his life; 
Tliere were dreams of a home and its treasure — a wift?j 
Tliere vvas. too, that heart-huns^er not yet recog'Dizid 
l''or tJie touch of wee tingfeis so tenderly prized. 
W'iiy, tlieo, is he lonely ii'nd restless, you say. 
And where are the old eh'M-ished louyiiiirs today? 
Ah! y.Hivi in a iwmlcliiiLr. beyond all recall: 
At the nee i of a mother, lij turned frou» iiiem iilll 

At last cin ; a stru^^ie and all hearts were stirre 1 
With compissioQ for brothers oppressed; al a wcjrd 
The sous of our union spring- up. brave and stron<jf; 
And crossed o'er the water lo conquer lhi> wroufi'- 
Amoriff them, my hero, so g-ilhint and brave, 
liiil th It (.""loi'lous deed all oat fou il hiai a irr ive; 
A nd he ca ue b lek to m x. her a'jfiin, all l)ei'eft 
O.' tha health and the streuj^'Lli ^ > jjr >a uimjA w'.iiri he left. 

Hi liv:s- bill ha feels in his livinj^ a lack 
Of the yonny in:in!y vicjor that never c inie bacl<; 
An i tiie gTeatne.ss of soul so ourm -asures the frame 
That il barsts Oiit sometimes ia tie Ilasii of a fl ime, 



&RANDMOTHER. 



And we niarvel, the spirit so quick is to speak 
To think thal.tlm tiei h is so wofaliy weak: 
And we wonder to thiril< how so Lirilliani. a .nind 
Within its frail casltet may still be confined" 

So boa--t of your hefoes of old if you will — 

I cling to this one of in\' own ciioosinijr still; 

iSpeak on of the strenplh that was valiant to die — 

r)l thinU of the power 'neath tlie fire of that eyel 

>Sing yet of tlie valour surmounting' the wall, 

I'll sing of the bravery ronouncing it all, 

Till you turn from the biightest in hisiory tliat shine. 

To recognize, too, this 3'onng hero of mine'. 



GRANDMOTHER. 

I loolc upon that de'ir old fuce to-d^iy 

And sluiddor wlu-n I think how soon decay 

]Mu«t come to wipe all hum;m trace away. 

'i'hat visago, thouL'h it spanned with Time appears. 
Has something through it ail that helps an 1 cheer 
As it hath dt)ne throughout these many yeitrs. 

The faith and love that followed all lier w iv 
Shine through the features witli a sweeter ray 
And make it seem an angel's face today. 

Hei feel that always knew so fii-m u tread 
Seem still on many a busy mission led. 
Yet longing for the L'ohlen stre.^ts aiieid 

There is a sweetei- lovedigbt in her eyes: 
And in their depllts a stranL'"e new glory lies 
As they had piei'ced the veil of Paradise! 

I love to seek her side and bid her tell 
Of all the joys and sorrows that l>efell 
Tiie youthful days she still recalls so well. 



ORANDMOTHER- 1^1 



""Tis strange thatsiie can still look clearly back 
Upon the love and loss along her track, 
And yet her quiet heart should fe«l no lack! 

I try to picture her in infancy 

Wiih wondering eyes just opening to see 

The strange new world of light that w.is to be! 

I try to picture her in later days 
With all a child's delight in simple plays. 
And all of childhood's sweet, unconscious gracel 

I try to picture her in maiden's hour 

Just wakening to the knowledge of her power 

And revelling in girl-hoods richest dower! 

In vain!— somehow, I fail to catch the spell 
And every fancy where I seek to dwell 
Melts in th« sweet old face 1 love so well! 

''Tis strange to think she had such dreams as S 
And all the same old milestones to pass by. 
And all the same, sweet hopes to come and die,' 

To think the heart could beat so quick and 

Only to grow so torpid at the litst 

With every thrill of fire and passion past! 

To look upon some buried love with ease 
And feel all of the olden yearnings cease, 
And leave the heart in calm and perfect f)eace. 

Ah me! it seems that all my soul would tire. 
And all 1113' heart-strings quiver and aspire 
With tierce, raad longing to the olden fire! 

Methinks I ooiil-d not let the passion die 
And know It all forever had passed by 
Without a wild and long- protesting cry^ 



152 GRANDMOTHER. 



But shi! h i^ si;en thf bi»st <if eiirth depirt 
And buried rxiMny a meniocy in her he.irt 
Yet still moves on vvilh yeiitle, vvinninn- ^rtl 

^'et is it .siiange that fai-olf days crime ni^ar 
And shine for her to-day so >>ri<,'lit and clear. 
While slie for<»-ets the daily action here? 

tShe sits and listens to my tales of bliss. 
And softl)' smiles at ihiit, or fciffhs at. tins. 
Dreamin<>' 1 itnow, of by-j^one Ifrjppiiiess. 

How queer throu<,'h me to live ner li!e ag-iibil 
God grant shi- haa forijotten all the ]>aiii. 
And only tendi-rest meinoriis lemaiiil 

Some day a f^(>ntle voice will call lier name 
And all her soul will quicken into flatne, 
And pass from earth as softly as ii cain^. 

Then shall we look around wiili ttar-diimcd eyes, 

And in our lonely hearts will realize 

How much of sweetness in tluit dear form dies' 

Then shall we tiirn to all our labors here 
And miss so mucli her lielpfui presence near ' 
And find so hard earth's toil without her cheerl 

Dear sweet old facel yon cannot g^uess how fair 
To me are all the li^-hts and shadows there 
Framed by the waves of soft and silvery hairt 

I should not dread old age us now I do 
Could I but walk as gracefully as you 
Adown the years that seem so short and few^ 

I shall not murmur if God's love assuies 

To me that beavity that thiouyh life endures. 

And maiks my latter days to be like yours. 



PRISCILLA ABBOT. 158 



PRISCILLA ABBOT.* 

A tale of Washing-ton. 

It was back in seventeen eii^hty-nine, 
Wlien the land was new, but the mioners tiae 
And the people were bieathing- everywhere 
Tne first sweet draiig^hts of b^'reedoin's air. 
There was much to learn and much to do, 
lint the men were brave and their hearts were true 
And they felt secure on the side of Rig-lit, 
For no one doubted Jehovah's niig-ht. 
In the daj's of VVashiusflon! 

In far Andover, that quaint old town. 
Now louclied with a measure of fair renovvn, 
There was bustle and stir one November daj', 
And hurry and Hurry in every way. 
While the battle-tiajr waved its tattered folds, 
Secure in the jjlory th.it victory holds. 
And the children were quivering with eagerness 
For the town had put on its g-ala dress 
In honor of Washington; 

Tiiere wjre old luea and youag inji an l little b lys, 
Awaiting their share in the great day's joys; 
There were matrons and m lidens and little girls, 
In the quaintest of dresses and fairest of curls; 
There were great folks and small folks all thronged in the street; 
There were grave folks and gay folks as ever we mjet; 
And they all crowded on through the busy old town 
Arrayed in thjir very best waislcjit or go.vu 
In honor of Washington! 



*This incident which occurred in Andover, Mass. November 5, K 
)und recnrded in liaiiey's "yketche*> of Andover.' 



l54 PKISCILLA AB30T. 



Brave s > diecs were thatv ia their' rebel blue," 
To cheer their commander so loyal and irue; 
Hvi h I. i olieereJ thcJin oft when tiuir h )pjs vvjre .11 n 
He liad marclied and fought, and suffered willi Ih -in 
He had won their love ui the hardships passed, 
And. ihev felt in their bosoms iheir hearts beat fast 
As inin^linpf with the resonant cheers 
Old memories flooded their eyes with tears 
As they wailed for VVashin-rlon I 

There stood at her father's lav^rti door 
In the quaint sweet yarn oar g-iaiidm )thers w>ire 
Priscilla Ahl>ott, a fair young maid. 
As sweet as the bloom in the di-'tani shade. 
Her heart oe'rfiowin^- with maiden-dreams 
And rippling' with mirth like the near-by streams 
Her eyes filled full of a wonder anct pride, 
And girlishly eager to see the ride 
Of the wjn lerful Washington! 

A cloud of dust and ti-e tramp of feet, 
And fast and faster their brave hearts beat, 
Then the bjom of a gun and the cry " I'hey cornel 
All hail to the (ieneral Washingtoul" 
As he rode on up to the eager throng, 
With a hundred eyes he was guided along. 
And they crowded about him to grasp his han,j, 
\Vhile many a veteran was all unmanned 
By the clasp of Washington! 

His stalely figure no years had bent, 
His deep blue eye no light hud spent; 
He was still the general they loved so well 
In the days of the dangerous shot and" shell; 
And Audover town with welcome thrilled, 
While the hearts of the people vpith reverence filled 
As they floated the banner of Bunker Hill 
A'ld cheered o'er and o'er with a lavish will 
For the welcome of Washington! 



PRISCILLA A330T. 155 



With the drum and the fife and all martial din 
They escorted him on to the Abbott Inn: 
Where the best of fair that the town could find 
Was served to this general, the best of his kind; 
With the tenderest of service they tillea every nee 1 
For the g-aest of the town was thrice welcome indeed, 
And the inn was a bower of festal display 
P'ov Andover claimed as a holiday 
The visit of Washiugton! 

When the wonderful banquet at last was o'er, 
"And Washino-tou started away from the door , 
lie stopped in suprise when he saw in his glove, 
A rent that his quick eye had noted not of; 
And he turned to Pricilla most co'ilrteously 
And asked, "My fair maid, would you miml it f )r m.j?" 
She took it and mended it swiftly and neat. 
Though trembled the fingers so white and fleet 
For slie did it for Washington! 

He took it completed and smiled at the place, 
Than gallantly turned to the fair maiden's face, 
As she courtesie I before him he beat his pr )u 1 head 
And placed on her fcMvhjad a warm kiss instea 1; 
She blushed and she trembled,— but thoughtful was hj 
And turned from her quickly and feigned not to see 
And far from the tavern so stately and gray 
With proud soldier bearing, rode swiftly away 
Tlie (ieneral Washitigtonl 

The story soon spread as all stories soon go, 
For the flight of all gossip is speedy you know; 
And the fair maiden found there as sure a renown 
As her puritan namesake of Plymotli town 
And often she stood in the tavern door 
And mused on tlie generel who came no more. 
And they laughed when the silent and still would get 
And declared she was foolishly dreauiing yet 
Of the kiss of Washington! 



LINCOLN'S I*RAYKR^. 



Oh, a century now has passed away 
Since the soldier from Andover rode that day, 
lint the pretty tale has been handed still 
Through tlie yeyars that have iTiinf»'led the g"oo ! an 1 ill; 
And Priscilla's "randchildren love to till 
The sweet old .•itorv they know so well, 
And thoug'h over and over and over 'tis told, 
It s one of the memories that never crrow old 
For it tells us of VVashinj^tou! 



LINCOLN'S PRAYERS. 

It was the time of blood and fii-e. 
Of scenes of sufferinjf dark and dire, 
That lig-hted many a funeral pyre 

'Neatii Southern shade; 
In lonely homes brave women sou<>-ht 
In toil to drown all fearful ihoufrhl, 
Wiiile facing foes, their dear ones fou^fht. 
And Lincoln prayed! . 

Through all the storm of shot and shell 
Through all the years when brave men fell 
He watclied the bloody conflict well, 

All undismayed; 
For when the fire was raging clear. 
When black defeat seemed all too near, 
And all the land was sick with fear, 

Theu Lincoln prayed'. 

"Is God on oar side?" Some one cried; 
"I don't Ifnow that," our chief replied, 
"If WE are only on IIis side 
I'm not afraid!" 



LINCOLN'S PKAYERS. 157 



He knew tliat ri^ht must frain the (Uiy; 
And triumph over vvion'^'" some waj', 
But there vvus little lie could say. 
So Li ncolu prayed I 

■iSome times the sky was overcast, 
And j^Teat defeats came ou them fast, 
VVliile every battle seeuied the la^^t 

Tiiat couid be played; 
Men's faces blanched with sore despair; 
The drummer played a solemn air, 
i^'or death and j,'looin seemed ever3'where 

i{ut Lincoln pra^'eiil 

No other hand could peace bestow; 
'1 iiere was no kelp to seek below; 
He knew no other plsvce to jjo 

To hcek for ai'l: 
And so to (rod tie took it all, 
And poured his whole soul in the call; 
Ahl Horaethiny surely had to fa^I 

^Vhen Liucolu prayed! 

Tis said by some of whisperirj^- kind. 

His was an infid die mi. id. 

But who more perfect faith could find 

Than Ue displayed. 
Who when tho land was veined with blojl 
And over swords his people trod, 
lield firm the promises of (iod? — 

Thus Lincoln prayed! 

Perhaps those heart-wrung- prayers did raore 
To change the course that run before, 
Tlian all the rnusketr}' of war. 

And cannonade. 
Thoutfh death and loss ma: ked all the way 
And conflicts thickened cve.ry day, 
Ttipy could not wholly lo-se the fray 

While Lincoln prayed. 



158 GAB FIELD. 



A 111 wlio of all of us can tell 
How many bullels powerless fell, 
How mauy a swoi'd-thrnst aimed so well. 

Were some wiiy slaj'ed; 
How many a fight our forces wop, 
How mauy a noble feat was done 
Because away in Washing-ton, — 
Our LineaUi prayedl 

Now white-winged peace his S'^ttlel liere. 
And dried is every bitter tear. 
And all forgotten every fear 

That struggle made; 
The feud of years has passed away. 
And all are brothers here to-day 
And so, "Thank Godl Tliank Gol!" we say, 

"That Lincoln prayed!" 



GARFIELI). 

Linortln was dead; and sorrow swept 
From Eist lo West of a mighty land; 
Men bowed tlreir f ices and women wept 
For the lo>.s that none could understand, 
There was tierce commotion in many a heart; 
And cries for vengeance here and there; 
For the nation throbbed in every part, 
And l)loody rumors wore in the air. 

Panic was threatening everywhere 
For men were wild and de-perate; 
The mutterihgs of riot thrilled the air. 
Anil seemed the certain turn of fate, 
Tlien vviis it ihal o'er the inaddened crowd 
A brave, strong voice a messiige gives. 
As General (iartield cries aloud, 
"God reigns, and the Republic livi 



VICTOIIIA. 



To.vard Heaven hd raisid his strong right arm; 
And by his power the crowd waa held ; 
His fearless voice dispersed alarm. 
And all the noisy riot quelled; 
It turned to (Jod the popular thought 
That craved the triumph vengeance gives; 
And home to all this solace brought, 
*God reigns, and the Republic lives. 

Years passed and then there came a day 
As clou<iy and as desolate; 
When Garfield fell where Lincoln lay. 
The rictim of a dastard's hate. 
And as we mourn for Garfield dead, 
No other word such comfort gives, 
As that his own brave lips had said, 
*God reigns, and the Republic iivesr' 



VICTORIA, 

1 

tip through the tender years of growth 

Her nature broadening lose. 
With all the gaiety ikat youth 

When full of vigor knows; 
(Guided and trained by mother-love 

That knew its mission well, 
IShe mined some truths men think not of 

And roamed where s:iges dwell. 

Far, far from i»orap and pride, and pelf 
This princess learned to govern self. 

All through the happy girlhood days 

She knew what lay before: 
And. true to duly, led her ways 



159 



160 VICTORIA. 



Where she might gain the more- 
As full of life as any are, 
As full of girlish glee, 
Yet ever following fast arid far 
VVhereliigher growth might be. 
Thus, through the years of maiden j )y 
She found the wealth no worlds destroyi 

She did not need the purple then: 

Her dignity alone 
Placed her above the walUs of men 

In by-ways of her own. 
She knew that England's eye was turned 

On her throutrh liopes an I fears; 
And thoroughly she her England learn mI 

Tlirough those preparing years. 

She stood where all the world could see 
Crowned in her maiden purity, 

ir 

It came so soon — that lookeil — for day 

That she had learned to dread; 
The aged king had passed avvay 

With all the crowned dead. 
An^ there, within his vacant place, 

They crowned the youthful queen; 
In all the bloom of girlish grace, — 

A maiden of eighteen I 

"I aiQ so young-- so youngi" she cried; 
"Do. (rod in heaven, be my giiide!" 

Between the living and the dead, 
Amid a glittering crowd. 
Where peers and princes proudly tread. 

And stately heads were bowed. 
She left her childhood in the past, 

And bravely vowed to reign 
As lie would give her grace at last 
Whose promise ne'er is vain. 



VICTORIA. 161 



Ah I young- she was lo wa/k unshod 

That throne whose steps had flowed with blood! 

The crown upon her tresses fell 

So heavily that day 
That g-irlhood lost its sweetest spell 

In duties in the way. 
!So powerless she felt to reign 

Her heart was filled with fears 
And all her weakness seemed as pain 

That spoke in worna,n-tears. 

So humbly there she bowed her down, 
And prayed for grace to wear that crown! 

The nation loved the bonny ma'd 
And welcomed her with cheers; 
And in therr favor unafraid, 

She bravely dried her tears. 
She knew tne darkness now so near 

Was heralding the light 
And all her girlish weakness here 
She blended in God's might: 
While all around the touching scene 
True voices shout, "God save the queen!" 

Ill 

Three years had passed; she stood once more 

Before her people there; 
A little older than before 

In years, in thought, in care; 
She stood to give her heart and hand 

As maidens only may. 
For love she scarce could understand 

Had glorified her way. 
Blushing she looked about the sc3a3. 
No less a woman for the queen! 

S^he was the princess of the land, 
And bards her praise might sing; 



182 VICTOKIA. 



But liuiiibly there bhe look her stand, 

Acknowledging n kin^, 
"How will you hufe the service read?" 

In wonderment said they; 
"No doubt 'twould belter be," they said 
To cut the word ■obey"?" 

"Ah, noble sirs, I wish to wed 

As woMA.v, not as queen!" she said. 

More meet the vows her lips must say 

L'^or one so fair as she; 
More meet her bridal-wreath that day 

Than the crown of royaltyl 
God f^rant Prince Albert by hn- side 

So smiling and serene 
Was proud to claim his fair young bride 

Forgetting she was queen I 

For love alone our houaeliolds need 
And she who loves is queen indeedl 

Her girlish heart was not subdued 

By purple or by crown I 
lint beat as fast as maiden's would 

Who stood in peasant gown. 
The vows were said- the tender vows 

That pledged her womanhood; 
And deeper lights beneath her brows 

Shed radiance where she stood. 

She clasped his hand, and looked above 
For (.rod had crowned lier there with love. 



IV 



A year: and then that youthful bride 

Became a mother too; 
What then was all her realm beside 

The tiny form she knew? 
Througk all her glorious diadem, 

And all her jewelled crest, 



VICTOKIA, i€3 



TWre was not one to match the ge\vt 
That lay upon her breast. 

The anffels smiled down on the scene 
And ranked her then as more than queeul 

Throiig-h all the years that followed fast 

Her motlipr-care was true; 
And long-er than her throne shall last 

'i he joys tlie mother knew. 
All England pointed to lier home 

^s such as Eug-lislr prize, 
Where she had lain tiie scepter down. 

Obey in J;- manlj^ eyes. 

For there the queen was but a wife 
And as a peasant lived her life. 

The years passed on- the children grew^ 

Around her, one by one 
And by her traininpr, firtn and true. 

There childhood's course was run. 
The raolhei's g-uidance faltered not 

Through years of war and strife. 
For in the nursery she foi-g-ot 

Tile perils of her life — 

She held smprenae o'er every other 
The duties laid upoa the naother- 

V 

There came a day — a dark, 'dark day; 

She knelt beside a bier, 
where cold in death the husband lay 

Her soul had held so dear; — 
tier best adviser, closest friend, 

Her*:ousort and her king 
On whom alone she could depend 

When all seemed tottering. 

Ahl all alone a woman mourns. 
And England's crown seems Jiiad« 



184 VICTOKIA. 



She mourned as only wives c;m mourn 

Whose liearis are crushed vviih pain; 
And long- it was ere she could turn 

To take up life ajrain: 
Yet when at last her work- renewed 

ll was with added g-race 
That all her sterner lines subdued 
And g':orifiecl her face. 

She wept her people's tears to see, 
With deepi-r. surer simpa'^lij'. 

Her cliildren w^-'dded in iheii- Lime, 

And left lier one by one: 
She .saw lier dear ones, in thidr prime 

On many a foreijrn throne: 
Ye!, still she served lier pe >ple well 

And held ail hearts in thrall; 
And on ami on the lony;- years swell — 

The lonjrebtreign of all I 
The lono-est reifi-n-aye, and the best; 
In all yood thinys above the rest 

Her course was wise; her court was purj. 

Her digniij', Serene: 
Fler simpath^' was true and hure, 

Her sjig'ht was far and Ueen, 
Her people first — her own self last, 

She gave to them lier best, 
And tliough some storm-clouds gathered fast 

Slie Icnew no thought of rest. 
They loved, as few I'ealms un lersiaud 
This queen who mothered all her landl 

Old age came on. yet found her brain 

Yet firm, alert, and cle.ir; 
As thougii the ye u-s h ui tri 'd in vain 

To wreck the brilliance here! 
Her form lost not its .= lalelin-fss 

Thi-ough all the g"riefs that came. 



"VICTORIA- aC5 



iNor did she loose that kindliness 
That marked her very name. 

Into the last, no storm could f;>de 
'i'his royal woman, qaeeniy made! 



VI 



As calmly as tiie scepter came, 

fler tired hand laid it down. 
And frladl}^ !efi her thrDne to claim 

In Heaven a brif^hter crown; 
Hejoicinsc that her head bhonld wear 

The g^lory she had dreamed; 
A priory anjrels cannot share — 

The crown af the redeemed. 

Herreiu;"n on earth forever done — 
Her reig'n in Heaven just bet'"un:' 

JNo one asks her at that portal 

If she peasant were, or kiny, 
2<\ir the gift of liie immortal 

Rests upon a greater thiny. 
.isiie has left all rank below her 

And no royal trophy brinies; 
ftjy her soul alone they know tier 

When she meets the King- of kinfrs. 
Who speaks to' her the threat '•Well done.' 
He o-iyes lo every faithful oue. 

2S'o! 'tis not for crown or title 

She is welcomed tiiere today 
Where her lips join the recital 

Of God's love along the way; 
For one name o'er every other 

On the roll of Heaven is seen. 
Where God writes her "Wife and Mothar," 

And forgets we called her ••Qiieen" 
That she never shall lay down — 
Womanhood's diviuest crovvul 



l06 PRINCE HENRY OF PRUSSIA. 



Not all alone did Er.s^land weep 

Above ihe sacied bier 
Where lay at rest in her last sleep 

The form thej' reverenced hei e. 
The whole wide world has shed a tear 

For this lost potentate 
Who proved herself throuf^h many a year 

To be most trul}' great, 

Ahl choked with tears, brave voices ring-, 

"The queen is dead — lou^' live the King"!" 



PRINCE HENRY OF PRUSSIA. 



He comes to Itie land of tlie proud and freo, 

This prince of the house uf idngs: 
And the g'uest of the nation indeed is he, 

As the street witli ids weicointi ruig-s. 
He comes, and he speaks as a friend to ffiends 

Uf a feeling tnat shall not fade, 
And America's hymn wiili the German blen Is 

Wherever his paih is laid'. 

He bows to (he uiasses that, watching stand, — 

i'liis km ot a poieutale; 
And as inau auii man he grasps the hand 

Ol our demociat m.igislrati-. 
He btands in tlio prule of las royal li^iit 

By a min of as prouU a birili, 
Who wears no crown but his mauhoud's mi^- »t 

YetrauUa wiLii tuo ttrsL i-f carta'. 

Ho visiis tlic tuinb >.f ihe nation's dead, - 

Th.s in in with t le rc^^Mi aw: 
Aaa In-' revjicnt stands wuh uncovered iiead 

\Viule ne p aces hi:> emoleais tUorc.' 



PKINCE HENRY OF PRUSSIA. 187 



That man who rose to a co'intry's needs 

Wore no sig^net of i'oyalt\% 
IJiit he grew by the power of his own g"reat deeds 
To as miffhty a man, as hel 

From east to west, he takes liis way 

And ihe freedom of all is his; 
His ranks is of little to liim to-dny 

Where he's measured for what lie ijl 
He wins all hearts by his g-enial air. 

And the orasp of his cordial hand, 
And the people are jjfatliering- evL-rywhere 

To greet in the prini^e, the man! 

There is somehow, a closer elasp to-day 

In Columbia's mighty hand 
As she warmly extends it across the way 

To the court of the Fatherland; 
And the friendly tie shall be binding yet 

Through tlie course of the years to be, 
In the nation whose people cannot forget 

This meeting with roj'alty. 



Thenwe give three cheers for the gallant m n, 

Who came from across the sea 
And walked in, as only the noblest can 

To the hearts of the proud and free! 
Forgetting his rank- we will cling to that 

While the truest of welcome rings 
For the prince who comes as a democrat 
To a nation where all are king^! 



168 THE DRTT-'fKARD'S DAXTGHTEE. 



TriE DRUNKARD'S DALlGHTS^R. 

"Twas ChtistiTiMS Eve. Adnwn tlie slrtH't, 

With hiir>', co'ul head and naked fvet. 

Her taltered dfess ^cai'/e to lier knee. 

A <x\v\ liut tifteeii p is>ed by m*' . 

A f;idecl, well-wurn sh;iwl nns ihrovvn 

About lier shoulders, while there shoiu 

A half-starved loolc wiliiiii her eye, 

And 1 eonid seareeiy pa!«s lier by- 

Siiu peered into the \vindo\v.> there 

So eairerlv, hiU with despair 

IShe turned her famished eye awiiy, 

Aiiii with a groan I heard her say: 

'"Alasl ah, nol they're not f.)r mel 

The onlj' gi-fts that I will see. 

\Vill be a eur.^e, a kick, a blowl 

No other portion could 1 kr)ow, 

l''or poverty' and misei-y wild 

Are al'ways f>>r the drunkaril's chihi. 

O fatiierl if you only knew 

One sober moment, I think- you 

Would pity your pt)or outcast girl. 

And would forsake the maddening whirl 

Of driiikl A single crust of bread, 

One little place to rest my head, 

One softened word, would be so rare 

Gifts for pcor me, I siionld not cai-e 

For any of these grand tilings herel 

Rut falher kille(t my molhei'dear 

^Vitll his abuse, ana soon 1 know 

J toti, .--hall lie benealh ihesnow; • - 



THE DRUNK A.BD'S DAUGHTER. 



'God knows I hope 'twill not be long^ 
Uefore 1 sing' ihe angels' song" 
Fill" life on eartk is worse than hell 
To ine! yet — (rod — does — all thinf^s — wel'i! 

■■•iMove on, you beLTg'arl Move, I sayl 
Why >i:iud \-ou bloci{iQ<4' ujj the wny? 
Tni> place is not for such as you!'' 
And a i-iide feliow pushed her throu<^li 
The erowd. 

1 saw h(>r wildly seek 
A corner, but she did not speak, 
Tii-1 knei^ling- on tlie snowy sod, 
yiie raised lier eyes nntoher (xod. 

'■'(> !''ather of the fatlierless! 

Look down on nie I oray and bless 

]Me by reinoviny" tiiis foul eut'sj 

l''r('ni my poor lit'i'. Could liell be wor .e 

Than my life liereV O Failier kirid^ 

I do not seek or ask to find 

A home of luxury or ease; 

I oiil}' beg Tiiee on my knees 

I'^or bread to save rav sotil iwrm death. 

Or a bed to soothe my d\Mn^- breath. 

2^0 other Christmas g'lft I crave, 

Jixcepting. l..ord. that ThO'U wilt save 

.My father from a drunkards fate, 

And cleanse his soul before too late'."' 

Her nrayer had cease i, just as the ball 
iProclaiined the nridnight kou'-. .-\ ^vv.'il 
Of joy passed o'er her fiei^ an I tli.-u 
She fell to earth. 

(Jh sons of 111 'ii , 
Can you stand by and see such w.»e 
■Unfeelinglv? 



170 FINDING JESUS. 



With step quite slow 
I sonofht, !ier si(ie. lier soul had fled 
To the blest regions of the dead. 
Upon the holy Christmas moiii, 
The day on wtiich ouj- Lord was born; 
AnolluT soul had fled this eai'th 
And at the Tinone had found new birth 
To spend beyond the starry sivies, 
Her Christinas Day in Paradise. 
(1S9G) 



FINDING JESLlS. 

A corner of a bare, chill room; 
A woman lying in the gloom, 
With wasted form and snnken eye, 
And the look of one about to die. 
A little girl bent o'er her there, 
And gently smoothed her rumpled hair, 
And eagerly watched every bi-eath, 
As though she felt that it was death. 
At length the mother's poor dim eye 
Unclosed, and llie pale lips did try 
So )iard to make their utterance heard, 
Jiut almost vainly. Just one word 
Came to the poor child's listening" ear, 
And that was this, "Find Jesus, dear!" 
Then with a gasp her spirit fled. 
And Bessie knew that she was dead! 



FINEIKG JESUS. 171 



Sht' Ihiwv herself upon th.' fl )()r. 
And !5ol)be(l tind orii'd -.in hour or more; 
'"Oh, wlial will now bjcoiiie of me? 
Wliat can I do? What .sh;ill I be? 
I liave no oilier friend I know — 

wiiere I woncter. can I go?" 

'I'lie g'lief of lliis poor, ignoraiil cViild 
!Sooii spent itself in uioanlus.'s wild. 
And as hlie diied lier tears, she heard 
Aj^Tiiin her molhers'^ tlyiiiy word. 

"Find JesusI" Vhou^'ht she,"' who Is He? 
Some friend of mother's lie niusL be! 

1 never h^ard of Hun Ixf.ire, 
But I will find Himl' 

From the door 
She went, and wan.lered down the str.iet 
T 1 a>k wiioiii *V:>r >.li * mig'at m "et, 
Who ,I.^sas was, if liiey eonid tell 
And if tliey knew where He niiy^ht dwell. 

Slie chanced to pass by '^ saloon; 

A yountj' man statfirtMed out. As s ni 

A'^ he bfheld hei-. 1,0 let slip 

A f -arfiil i>alh fioni his Idoated lip. 

Thecliild eang-ht the word eagerly, 

And cried," O tell where is Hr?" 

The man asked wildly, "'where is who?" 

'•Why Jesus Christ! 1 thought that you 

.lustspoijt! Ifis name," the child replied, 

"And where is He?,' — "" 

The j'ounpf man cri ed 
With sobered face and awe-struek air 
"My little child, I don't know where!"' 

Tlie disappointed child ran fast, 
And through the noisy city passed 
In search of Jesus — where was He? 
At ient^ih her qaicU eye chanced to see 



17a FINDING JESTJS, 



A .Te-.vi.sh woman standing tii<rh, 
SeliiiiK' lin" wjiies to who would buy. 
'•(> lady'.'" J■e^sie■.s yonrifr \ oice critd; 
'•please, where is Jesus? I have iiied 
To find lliiii all llie inorinng- lonj:', 
But no oil,! k lO'.vs Him in tUis tliroiijf!' 

T le w ) u la tani>'d i look mist, wil ' 
Upon the pool- un tuiored cii; Id 
T len with a sne^^f she fierciiy siid 
Unto her, '■Jesus Christ is dea 11" 

Poor Hessie ran on down tin* street. 
Almost cfushed down bene tlh tlie feet 
IH' passers-by, .Ju>t then a sleiirh 
Dashed on: she could not clear the way, 
And she was tramped beneath the tread 
Of inacidened horses. Almost deail, 
'I'hey carried her inio a house. 
But nothiiiy seemed to her arouse. 
Allhoug"h slie had the l)est of care. 
God did. not will her life to spare. 
But just before she'diew the breath 
That i;-ave her spirit up to death. 
She opeued ^ler'pooi-, pale lips wide. 
And with a voice of rapture cried, 
\Vhile vvave-i of j )y her marred face passed 
"Oli'JesusI I've found you at lastT, 

No otlier word the oi-phan said. 
And soon her youthful spirit fled, - 
To be with Ilim her soul had sought. 
And Who, in answer to her thought, 
Had taken her wriere she could know 
The Jesus she found not below. 
(1896) 



N OSCE TBIPSUM, 173 



NOSCE TEIPSlJiVl. 

We do not know ourselves — sometimes we feel 

So full of Dovver to conquer every aim; 
530 sure of reachiuy- all our life's ideal 

And winning wealth, position, rank or fame, 
We strive- we toil— and all our senses reel 

In tliedeliglit of all we see ahead—- 
We aimed too hij-'h, and when we cldSp the real. 

It is a stone when we had reached for breads 

We do not know ourselves — we feel so strong 

Sometimes to grapple with the worst of life; 
"We pass some week one <^aily in the throng-, 

And pity all kis failings and liis strife! 
We could not err as he — ah, no, indeed; 

We are so steadfast, and can ni ister all! — , 
"TemptatioQ comes — we, boasting, do not heed, 

And in the worst of weaknesses we fall! 

We do not know ourselvf>s — we think we know 

All of the thousand mysteries of earthi 
Science and art have opened all below. 

And we can prate of everything of worth! 
Some master comes — he speaks an unknown tongue. 

So full it is of truths beyond our own. 
And all our boastings ¥ack to us are flung — 

We learn how little we have really known! 

We do not know ourselves — sometimes we think 

We are so happy in some new-found. joy; 
We hover carelessly on Pleasure's brink 

And sing that nothing can our bliss destroy; 
Some word is said— some "trifle, light as air," 

That one who ma.s'ters us has careless dropped; 
We riTsh into a mood of deep dospair, 

Aud all our song is most abruptly stoppedJ 



174 NOSCE TEIPSXJM. 



We do not know ourselves — we tliink we love, 

And all our hearts about auothess iwine; 
We swear our souls were kindled from above, 

And all the fire that warms us is tiivine 
Then 5omelhin<^ conies between, and we apart, 

Look back without a very long- regret; 
Those vows we made were really from the lieart, 

l!ut we forgot how soon liearts cau fororet! 

We do not know ourselves — some sudden pain 

Hits c;t^5t a shadow over all i,)ur liay 
Our wounded hearts cau never hope again 

For all the world is conifijrtles.-^, we .say. 
Vain word! Time soon has laid his sjolhlng haa I 

Upon the bruise and ii is hrnled once more; 
We laugh and sing, anu all f )igettiiig stand 

Unscatlied, while life tljws round us as before. 

We do not konw ourselves — we feel resigned 
And say whatever couieih, shall be well; 

Then'God calls home some loved one. and we find 
. How soon our hearts are ready to rebel! 

And then we s:iy. we wish we, too, might die; 
That we are tii-ed of oui- ri)unds eacti day: 

Yet. — when we Ihink the Death Angel is nigh. 
We shrink and shudder, and for lii'e we pray. 

We do not know ourselves — sometitnes we rise 

So far above the hum in in the soul 
We feel so near to God and His blue skies, 

Thatsin and foUeyfar beueath us roll! 
We pray — we talk of things of God alone, 

And was so high o'er all that near us lies! — 
Alas', one little word, and all is flown, — 

Our holiness melts down before our ej'esi 

There lives in each two forces — good and ill 

And each is striving for thfe master's place, 

iSomelimes the good controls our poor weak will; 
Sometime-s — and oft, I fear— the evil swaysl 



CONSOLATION. 175 



^Somelimefe a wrong- has come from good intent. 

Anil good fro Ki evil thoug-ht misunderstood; 
Thank God,- He ruleth our euvironraent, 
, And can all evil use to work Hi« goodj 

1)ur so«ls areUod-made, and lh*y are divine; 

■"Tis but the lie^h that keeps them from their fliprkt 
'They rise and crlovv in oth«r reaUns to sJiine, 

Till human passions swell and elaim their right; 
"Weig-hed down by fetters we cannot control, 

There conaes an end to even tlie grandest aim, 
And all the best achievements of the soul 

Are haiB'per^d by the weakness of the fratnel 

Then know THiSKi/i", Heart, and be ye strong; 

Love en, be grand^ and live for G^od and raao, 
3f sad, be brave, and force a little song. 

This body cannot long defeat yourplani 
■"So let it do its very -worst to-day. 

And its demands be harassing and sure, — 
We know, at most it soon must pass away, 

And doubly free, the spir it^shall eiidure^ 



CONSOLATION, 

To a Friend on the death of a loved one, 

H do not come, rlear friend, as many another. 
With old familiar words of sympathy; 

'H feel yo«r loss too deep, so sure no other 
Can half the yearning of your spirit see. 

1 do not try to offer words of healing; 

I point \'our wounded heart to One above, 

Whose deep compassioa "round you now -is stealiiEg" 
For God is love-' 



178 THE FIRST ROSIKT. 



I know tliou^-h now tie sky ib dark and leaden 
The snn will sometime pierce the clouds acrain. 

And Duty — sweet, stern nurse — will partly deaden 
The bitterest memories of this crushing,' pain. 

We cannot see the good that lies behind it; 
The ansrel comes — but is not understood; 

IJut somethintf yet will lead us on to find it, 
For God is n-oodl 

I do not say "Mourn not!" for it were viinly; 

The one you loved was of your life ;i part. 
It were nol'sin to yi'ieve nor would I pain you 

Bv biuishing" old in Mn )ries from s-oar tiiiarl. 
The human spirit must recover slowly. 

When of its dearest jrifts it is bereft; 
So mourn, sad hearti for even grief is holy 
8ince Jesus wept I 

Yet think you moi e of tiiat to-come reunion 
When yon shall meet again to part no more; 

Wlien love complet'.^ shall hold such sweet eommunian 
As liearts can never know on earthly shore. 

Yes, weep; but mingle tears willi hope and singing 
Until you stand tomorrow side by side; 

Remembering, Death itself hath lost its stinging 
Since Christ hath diedl 



TriE FIRST ROBIN. 

Little Redbreast, why, oh, why 
Have you left your Southern sky I 
Winter reigns as proudly here 
As he means to stay the yearl 
Idly, we await the call 
Of the Spring-time, vyliile we all 
In these gray, gray days remember 
All the drearness of November! 



THE FIRST ROBIN. 177 



All out* thoun-hts are slncf-rish now. 
Every pulse is ebbintr slow, 
And the jjrayness of tlie sky 
Colors all itiat meets the eye. 
Nothing- seems to rouse oiir fire, 
J'leasnre only comes to tire 
And tlie dull, dull hours are diMg-^-ing 
While the t:irdy Sprino- is lag-g-iuir. 

Yet. wee '.varbler. you arc here 
I'ouring- out a song- of cheer, 
rerohint;- on a bare old spray. 
Trying- hard to pierce the ^ray. 
As you tell of days of old 
When the skies wei^e full of gold, 
And vou hruifT the heaviest-ht-arted 
'rhoughts of brighter days departed. 

"Tisa sorry welcome here. 

]n this sleep-time of the year: 

You uuisl Hnd t'he North i and cold. 

And reg-ret the sians of old: 

Y^ou may lose your cheer sotne day, 

And like us may hopeless say, 

^•Hetfer chill M:ii-oh w^ndsthan these, 

]{etler tears that April sees!" 

^ing- on, if you can, brare bird:.' 
Every heart is glad it heard; 
For such silence twraps us all, 
'rhat we hear the lieart-beats fall, 
I'anting for an hoar's release 
From the sliadows liiat increase. 
Liong-ing for some breake to be.. 
In the day's monotony. 

Would ihat I couhl smgof cheer 
When the world is bleak and drear!! 
Would that 1 could sing alone 
AA'hen the shadows hasten on! 



178 TWO VIEWS. 



Wh:it is there such notes to start 
From \'our solilury heart? 
All the rest are waiting,'- still 
For the coming dutTodiil 

When the yray gii^es place to blue, 
And ibe golden sun peeps through 
When the crocuses appear 
lu tlie biirren meadows here, 
'I'hen your mates will g.itlier, too, 
lint, less welcome, sir, than yi-u; 
All there cheer is easy won — 
We can all sing in ilie sun! 

Yes, thrice welcome, warbling throat. 

Pour out yet that hopeful note! 

All the stupor of the gray 

ilas one stre ik gold to-elay : 

Vor your notes, so l)rave antl true 

Almo>~t teach us courage too, 

As viiU carry far and near 

Word that Spring must soon be here. 



TWO VIEWS. 

I 

The world was bright: my heart was light; 

The joy of love was mine; 
So young and gay. I thought m^' day 

Forever so must shine; 
All skies were clear; no cloud was near; 

My soul was full of song; 
And glad to be, 1 sighed ••Aii me! 

Life cannot lin"er long!" 



LIFS. 179 



LI 



Years come and go — I leara to know 

That tliouylit is one with pain: 
tStorms thick and fast my he.irl-fl uvers blast 

To blossom not afjain. 
All joys pass b3'; all wishes die "! 

la clouds of grief and wfonsr: 
And 'neath the rod, I cry "Tliaak God! 

r^ife cannot lino-er loni'.'"" 



LIFE. 

He soufrhl for Wealth— he sonirht it long' 

In every chatinel where men hiid it. 
But every effort, firm and strong', 

Had dismal failure Just behind it. 
He saw how others won success 

Without much strug^grle while he could not: 
He cried, "Cira?. \Veiltli, mv life to bl;ss.'" 
Wualth would not! 

He soug'ht for Fame - he followed far 
The bursting' bubbles of earth's pfiory; 

He longed to stand wliere great men are; 
And hear the whole world sinjif his story 

He wished — oh, how he wished!— ta see 
His name immortal, yet he could not; 

He cried, '•Come, Fame, abide with me!" 
Fame would not! 

He souehl for Love — Love seemed s j near 
He almost clasped it in his lonf^-lng-; 

He reached his arms, — it was not here. 

And all his sou! seem id la id with wrong'insr! 



180 I.IFE. 



]Iis sore heart acherl with n-nnndocT pri<Je 

F(-.r love that faile(i liira when it shdulci not 
"O Love, dear Lovel come hori>," he erieJ, 
Love would not ! 

He snup-hi for Joy— wlieie'er is f'lr.iul < 
Earth-liappines-. Jie ea<.'er ."^ouyht il: 

When anil wherever j >.>'s abound 

He vowed to follow uU he caiiirht il: 

l?'it where he wandi-reii. ,Joy was not — 
Hi' I'eached t<> Lak.- hc^r, but lie cou d not 

' 'O Joy, come now ;inil b es> my lot' " 
Joy >.vouli| noi '. 

He Lheii soiig-iit L>.iatti ^'"if lift- h is not 
The <nt'ts for me that m )si \'\u eraviii'^ 

Then what hat pain is earthly lot,. 

And what is there for roe \v(H-iii saving 

A (h'eary itia<it)e>s filled his breast; 

He souo-ht to part with life Imt e-oiild rrot 

"O Death," he cried, "C itne. bring" lue reslT" 
Death would not. 

When years had yone. and hopes long- tie d 

One day into his lite there entered 
Wealth, Fame. and L )V.- he tlioug-lit Wiis de 
And ail in whw-h his hopes, once centered 
And then came Joy to crown ii's day. 

Most freelv. n >w that he pnrsned not; 
He thoiTg'ht. "Ah! when 1 era veil their swav 
They would noli'' 

That same nig-ht. Death catne knoc'cing- t » ■ -v 
The lieart so full at first not liearinji': 

But louder yet he smote the air 

With that deep call the world is fearincr 

"O Death," he cried," 1 called one day 
Upon you when I knew I should not; 

But leave me now a while. I pray I" 
Death would not! 



GOD IN NATURE- JSi 



GOD IN NATURE, 

WheD the dust of life is gatheriug' fiist, 

Aud you are not undei-stood: 
When iiotliing- comes but ^Tief to last, 

Go. — seek some distaat wood. 
And reverent step o'er the verdant sod, 
Ah)ne wit 1 Nature and Nature's tJod! 

The frag'i'ance Csod's own breath raigbl be 

Birds warble of His love: 
The trees proclaim His niag'esty, 

Aud point your ^>oul above; 
Oh. drink in the fr,-shness of all the WQod proclaim 
And revel in sylvaa solitude I 

Think not in that sorrow that weisrhs you <iown. 

That noVjody eares at all; 
liut wonder away from the care-woi'n towa 

Where the voices of N iture (!;-iIl. 
And hear (Jo'.l si'4-h thr.)U'^u ih'i fjrest wi.id 
His sympathy for all iManlviiul! 

Mourn not thai the world is be3'ond recaJlJ. 

In its sin ami its unbelief; 
And siiy not that tJod lias forg-otten all 

He has promised for it^ relief; 
But hear Him weep throui^h the drippinjf raiu 
For a world beloved in its sin and pain! 

See the cloud-frowns feather across His face 

Where His smile is wont to shine; 
See the darkness gathering- every place 

From tlie heart of a King- divine; 
A nd hear Him sob through tlie cold westwind 
For a suffering people who will be blind. 



GOD IN NATURE. 



D.jubt n^tlhat His rnig'iity heart is wi-ucig- 

By ci'eiition's unbelief: 
See His vvorld all parched bj' a bufuiufj sun 

And almost choke<l with yrief; 
And note what a blessing the rain appears 
As His suyersiig herat finds relief iu' tears. 

Then know that His h'jart is the f itlier heart 

And His love you can never trace; 
Look *;)ravely up, — see the elou lUii.s part 

And the bright blue taive their pi ice; 
Then see Him Mraile in tiie noonday siiu. 
O'er a vieiory gained or a duty done! 

O never give your grief its sw.iy, 

Be sure it is somewhere brii^ht, 
And bravely tui'ti your face away 

As asunflouer to the light. 
And find in eaeii flower His power and grace, 
Ani' some thought of His goodness in every place. 

Lose not the song from 3-our weary life 

Thouijlt it seems so nearly deitd; 
For he who sintrs through the daily strife. 

Is soorifc'r to sunshine led; 
Go, — hear (Jod's soii<r in the babblin','- stream 
Of a jny , to come, and a pence supreuie. 

Do yon feei so blackened with earthly slain 

So blotted with sin Jind care? — 
Go out on the iiills and a cleansing gain 

In the purity of the air: 
Or far on a pratrie where few have trod 
Drink, drink of the life-giving fulluess of G > 1! 

Do you d:>re to doubt a Creator's might? — 

Co foi-th when the Spring is near, 
And vvaich the .iprimts as from darU'of night 

They gradually re-appear; 
See the grass come forth, and the flowers of the wood ' 
And know 'tis creaiion thus oft renewed. 



GOD IN NATUE.S. ]83 



When yon k:io'.v tlie blr,t3r of tfa,t bjUM^'e:!, 

And cruel dis-illuiions come; 
When you lose the faiih your fonilness lu ide, 

And dt'clare you believe in none, 
Then lift youi- eyes quickly lo Heuv.ju's b' ue 
And reNt in the Love that i.s sure and true. 

But if ^in ;ind gUilt -and crime's despair 

Are It muling' you usiray, 
i'V-ei ill ;!;<.' ^^ultry Auuusl air 

Your condemuauon lay, 
And be warntid iu the midsummer's withering' heat 
Tliat the wiatli of God shall be sure and ileet. 

Com nuoe wiili Xacure, and all tier soul 

She will open to you aluue; 
She wiU \vhi-.per sweet sol ice to make you whole 

And claim j'ou as Nature's own; 
Then t'sel God's kiss on your heated brow 
^Vheu the o'cntle zephyrs of evenin<r blow! 

Oh, the mount lins stand as motiuments. 

Of His grand'Ur. niouml and mound; 
And the ocean tells of a i'rovideuce. 

And a love we cannot sound; 
Every blade of grass, every moth that wings 
Some thought of its Creator brings! 

No lives lliat are human are wholly kin; 

No heart can cemmune with heart; 
There is always something untold within 

That must ever remain apart! 
No soul another's can quite understand 
Till God halh blended them in His hand. 

But out in tlie solitude with God, 

There the heart can be wholly bare; 
There the soul may whisper and all unawed 

Catch tne answer in the air; 
There it sweet communes with the Blather's heart 
And feels His presence in every part! 



A BENEDICTION. 



Aad out in the evening when twilight flies, 
And our spirit hath found Us curt'; 

Wo stand, bare-soiiled. 'neith Liie pji feet slcies, 
And feel so pure, — so pure! 

Foi- (T ) 1 Iniih spoken the heart's sure ;a ;e 

And the stars are smiling' us sweet sweet peace. 

Oil, you who are sick of the dust of ye irs, 

And sick of the wars of men: — 
do, study the lesson that Nature bears, 

And learning take heart again: 
For the glory of (lod rests over all. 
And He is near when His children cill! 



A BENEDICTION. 

(Jod keep thee! May His loving arm, 
So gentle, lender, strong and warm, 
Forever shelter thee from harm! 

God keep thee! 

(iod lead thee! Through whatever woe 
May fall to thy lot here below, 
Ilis light be ihine where'er thou go! 
God lead thee! 

God love thee! May His love so pure, 
All 'round thee, hold thy soul secure, 
That come what may thou mayst endure 
God love thee! 

God help thee! May He ever make 
Wide way for thee, for His own sake, 
In all that thou shall undertake; 
God help Thee! 

God bless thee! May His blessing sweet 
Rest with thee, guide thy wayward feet 
Until on Sea of Glass we meet! 

God bless thee! 



In piemoriam* 



GOD'S WAY. ja? 



GOI>'S WAY: 

la msmory of Grrase Evftleth. 

We stood beside the dark, draped bier 

VVliere one we loved was lying; 
A month aero we had no fear 

That she'd so soon be dyinjr; 
""T was hard— so hard — 1\ that dark day 

To see the hand divine, 
Yet we had heard the Father say; 

"My ways are never thineV 

A broken family knelt around 

The bier that monrufiil day, 
■"Twas all of Grace that conld be found 

That piece of lifeless clay! 
A lover's lieart was bi^alving- there; 

The sun refused to shine; 
Yet throug'h the clouds a whisper clear, 

"My ways are never thinel" 

A school was left to raoarn a light 

That could not shine again; 
Small. use to whisper, "It is rig-htT' 

In tliat first hour of pain. 
We were not brave enough to lay 

Her calmly on His shrine: 
Ah, Grace, we prove the words to-day — 

"My ways are never thinel"' 

Not ours, indeed! ' Fvvere ours to hold 

The one we loved so dear, 
Tiie place is vacant in the fold 
he fillea so nobly here; 



A MOTHEK'S GRIEF. 



IT )\\' many ;i heart is pierced wilh woe 
How Ion";' and .-ad the lioursi 

Xii lUH'd to tell us that, — \Te know 
His ways are never our^l 

\Vi> try to tell that she was dear — 

Tiial noble lii.tle woma n ! 
AVe sny she was an anp'el liei'e 

Yet altog"elher human! 
We cannot say a word of praise. 

For sorrow overpowers; 
^Ve only ny. •■(lood-bye. dear (,<racel 

His Ways were never oursl"' 

True, time will pass. --hut this one place 

Will stand hei-e vacant still — 
The coi-ner that (Uir pr^■cioll■^ (Jrace, 

And !io one else coulil fill, 
I'ei'iiaps when we have met ayrain 

Ainid celestial bowers. 
We will forg^et this liour of pain, 

And nis vvay then be our:?. 

1^94. 



A MOTriER'S GRIEF. 

In memory of Flora May Jones. 
Dedicated to her mother. 



I sit with lonely heart to-ni<;nt. 
And pray that I be led ariyht. 

And taught to live it down — • 
This grief that nearly drives me wild, 
The loss of Flo, my darlingr child, 

Who wears the angel's crown. 



A MOTHER'S GRIEF. 139 



But ninetpcn 5'pars aofoshe came, 
A tinv fm-in witliouta name. 

Around our liearts to twine; 
A little bud as whit.u as snow 
Thai seemed too pure, too fair 10 g'l'ovv 

Upon an earthly vine. 

But God had placed her in our cate, 
To ffuard from eveiy e.irihly su.ire, 

Her soul so pure and wliite: 
We watched lier older yrovv in years. 
We shielded her wiili anxious fears, 

From every loi'm of blig'ht. 

An ang-el could not purer I e, 
A lily no more beauty ^ee 

Thau she, ourdiirlintf Flo; 
Her heart, ^o lovini^-, kind aud true 
Won friends of everj' one sue knew, 

Wherever she might ^o. 

Her lovel}'' spirit knew n(j slain. 

Her lender soul was racked ^vitli pain 

To see another sin: 
How she would raise her eyes of blue. 
In prayer that those she loved so true 
\Vould let her Saviour in! 

The light of God shone in lier eyes 
The blessed light of I'aradise 

Went with her on iier way; 
We loved her — oh, too well I 100 well I 
It was not meet that she should dwell 

Where sin and trrief hold swayl 

We loved her— aye, but (rod IovmI best 
And wisely took her frmn our lireasl 

'J'he streets of gold to roam. 
IJe saw her soul was all too fair 
For such a world of C(jnsLanl care, 

Aiul vvhispjred, '"Child, com ; homjl" 



190 A MOTHER'S GRIEF. 



At last we real'z-il the triii}i. 
Tlnii she, in all hec spolless youth. 

Was '.'■oin;^ fruiii our home: 
Wii saw the- end ilraw slowly near, 
We saw the hand of death appear, 

A 111! K'nevv llie hour hatl come. 

She raised lier littie haod on hig^h, 
And pointed upward to the sky. 

Wnei'e slie so soon would dwell; 
And thHu her .spirit tooU its Hiyht 
Where God hath .said, there is no n'yi.t. 

And all with her is well. 

The ifates of Heaven wuvi op.MU',1 wide; 
We fancied we con Id see insitle. 

Wiieii that \vliile soul win^'ed throu:rli; 
"M'lMi-e (ii)dl."" We cried. •'Uiis is not deu thi 
For oniy by the si.ru-^y ling breath 

Tnc bitter truth we U.iow. 

(^Iil when that sainted soul had tied, 
A'ul I couid realize her dead. 

My heart jij-rew harti as stone; 
I coald not see liow (i id could call 
My darliny one, luy Flo. my all, 

And leave nie liere aujne. 

I could not feel His ways were just; 
Why did lie claim her, and why must 

I sta3% if she must <,'-o: 
H(iW could I live if this must i)e? 
How could I live and never see 

My precious little Flol 

1 hated life- 1 pi-a3'ed to die: 

To dwell in that fair laud on liig-h. 

With her, so wondrous dear; 
1 did not panse to tliinl? that cleatii 
Gould only come when every bnalh 

Had 'filled its mission here. 



A MOTHER'S QRIEP. 19j 



f questioned God's g-oodness to me 
How this was kind I eould i>stsee 

I liardiy dared to pra,y; 
How could I kiss the smiiinrr rod: 
How could I raise my heart to (Jod, 

Wiio took my child away! 

f'^riends came to lue witk words of cheer 
Siut all fell heedless on my ear: 

How little •did th«y know! 
They never had a mother's lieart, 
Were never called upon lo part 

With such a child as Flo! 

At last, (kjd's ang-el-came to me 
To teach me that it would not be 

If 'twere not for the best; 
<Tod'.s love for me was oh, so g-reat-^ 
Willie Flo was in a happier slate 

VV iiere all is peace aad rest. 

I knew that had she lived below, 
•She mifrlit not always have been s.i. 

So pure, so f^ood, so fair: 
AVhile not a sorrow can C(jrae near 
, JsoraiHy f int of earth appear 

To mar my darling- there! 

And so 'tis wrong- to wish her back. 
To wish her feet to walk tthe track 

Where ang^els sometimes fall.; 
And yet, at times, my selfishness 
E'en yet, would seek from all that bliss 

Her spirit to recall! 

rVe J«arned t« f=ee hoiv (ind knew best, 
But oh, how oilier was the lct.t! 
How merciless the dart' 
Sometime, I may live down the grief 
A-id time, in God's hand bring relief 
To soothemy tortured heart 



193 A MOTHEK'S GRIEF. 



Bat ohi not now; tliree VL^ars hivi px^sed 
Sinus that (lark niyiit she breatlied hei" last 

Within this dreai-y c-lirae: 
And still the wound is op^-n yet: 
It seems 1 nevei- e;in fof<»'et. 

V\]iite"er thj lapse of tinii!. 

I u>ed to say. "dr )d"s will he douel" 
1 daie not say it noul oil, none 

Can reali/.e the hlnw! 
We say we"ei- to ilis will re>ii^-tu'd, 
Unt when the te^t ennu-s. tiien we find. 

!i iw little dill we Icnowl 

• L' WIS. wii'lced. L ii'd. 'Tny inve t 'doubt. 
Lliit brain and sensi' wit(^ p;it to rouL, — 

I knew unt, wliat I <li'l: 
l''oiMive nie. l''ithei". I'ov tlie wi'ouj^'. 
I'^oririve. I Diay. and nia':<e ine strong. 

To do as l-aui bid. 

And Lord, ho.v j^'oo 1 Thon weid to me- 
Itefasing" tiieii to yi-ini mv plea 

Ami let me die wi i h I'dnl 
Foi- had-.t Thou Livanied it. I T'ear 
My soul w;i> lit not to appear 

\\ here 1 my child mi<,'-ht know. 

Dear I'^ol she waits abovt- lor me; 
Her fiice will i)e the tirsi I see 

ITpon that yl i iteri iiy sirand; 
Soinetinies; my eyes can almost tiaee 
Her form in~tbaL celestial place; 

xVnd'see her beckoninfr hand. 

Her room is just an wlicn she died; 
I cjuld hot chanf^e it if I tried, 

Each trinket is in place: 
Each dress she wore is hans-ing- there! 
And there'?' her bail, and herc'.s her c'.i.iir, 

But oil, where is her face? 



TKANSPLANTED. J83 



"At heaven's gatel" a voice replies, 
And then my liroken ^piril cries, 

"She's there, my ang-ei onel" 
O Father, help me tra>i Thee morel 
Teach me whatever lies before. 
To say, "Thy will be donel" 

1897 



TRANSPLANTED. 

In memory of Rose Schaar. 

Within our garden "rrew a thornless Rose; 
We tende'l it eaeh dav witii lovinof care; 
We o-iiarded it — we felt that it was rare, 
And feared we foes! 

We knew sometimes the frosts of eartli have chilled, 
And summers heat has withered to tlie g"rounJ.; 
And so with great anxiety we found 
Our days were filled! 

And so it grew — and fair it was to see; 
With pride we watched each opening leaf expand; 
With joy vve loved, yet could not understand. 
So lair was siie! 

Our garden grew in sweetness day by day. 

Iler fragrance mide the air like breath of Heaven; 

We wondered wliy so fair a plant, was given. 

To cheer our way! 

Alas! the eye of Goii was on our lli.se — 
He saw that she was fit His fields lo grace 
He took her from our care unto a place 
Wliere come no foes! 



194 GONE BEFORE. 



^o frost, no heat, no careless fool cnn S' il, 
The beauty of the fl )\ver we kept su fair; 

Transplanted to a garden far inor>i rare 
Titan where ue toil I 

God sa -v some ruin com:; to interp ise^ 
Poihaps he saw the haiul of lovei- <lare 
To dream that lie inight pluck ihe bud, and wear 
The blossonifd Ro>e'. 

We do not think of her as in the tomb: 
No, no! the l>u 1 ihaiilid not o:)f!ii h M'e 
Had on;y found a briyhler atini>s[)i]ere 
To burst in blooinl 

We fi'^d the yardeu now has lost its afrace; 
Her fvtiyrance gone, there seems so little cheer! — 
Yet leaflets there, and fallen p.Hals hore, 
E.idear ihe placj! 

We know that when our days of toil shall close 
We, too, shall fiud the g.tr.len spot al)ove. 
And there, still fresh and bweet. the bud we lovo 
A full blown Rose! 
.IS'JS. 



GOr^E BEFORE. 

In meaaory of Harriet M. Huma. 

'■She is dead!" they say with grief-bowtd head: 

'•We'll never see her more!" 
I ciuiiOt think of her as dead, 

But only gone before; 
Foi- sht has reached a land m ire f.iir, 
And only waits to greet us tUere 



GONE BIZrOKE. 185 



I see hji" now as in the past. — 
That gentle, sweet vonnj^ face: 

Tho-^e eyes of blue, too clear to lust; 
Th.it form of lithesome grace: 

That quielc, brisk step; that tender smile 

So full of love and free from g'uile! 

O no! I c.^xxoT have it so! 

1 will not lliink that she 
We loved so tenderly below 

Lives but in niem()r_\ : 
.She lives as truly as of yore 
Although we see her here no more- 

There's not a sing-le charm of soul, 
There\> not a grace of form ■' - 

lint in that land, as years may roll,' ^ 
.Secure from e:irthly storm, 

W'ili uriyli ter. liolier beauty see, 

EiilKinced by inimi rtalitj*. 

Her soul was always turned to God; 

Her thoughts of Heaven's light; 
Her mission while on earth she trod, 

Was pointing souls to right. 
We loved her, but we never knew 
How well the angels loved her, too! 

Tiie shadow fell so gradually 
We scarcely marked its way: 

\Ve, closed our eyes, and would not see 
Her fading, day by day. 

It seemed we could not have it so; 

She was too swee,t, too pure to go! 

Dear Hattie! I recall the day 

We gathered at ihe ir.iin 
To see it bear her form away 

New health and strength to gain. 
Alas! God did not will it so. 
Although His plans we could not know! 



196 GONE BEFORE. 



We hoped, — tho' hope was wed to fear, 

Tliiit in that western clime. 
The form of her we held so dear, 

Miglit ill a little time 
New life from God's own natiire gain, 
And come back well and strong again. 

We saiil "good-bye" with many a teai'. 
And many a heart -felt prayer; 

Onr hearts were loiii Lwixi hope and fea.*, 
And burdened deep with care, 

VVe could not bear to see her go. 

And .yet we hoped 'twas better so. 

Alas! she never reached ihiit clime; 

trod called to Ueavefi liis own; 
They brought to us in two weeU'.-> time 

Her still cold form aione; 
The gentle soul iiail taken lliglit 
To realm of ev< rla-'ling liglii. 

NoL as she le'L she c.ime ti^aiu — 

No word of greeting M\\ee.; 
No clinging clasp: no lear-drop's stain: 

No smile our hearts to greet 
(xod help u>! we must bear the blow, 
And try to sa}' "(iotl wlll^ it so'" 

We wonder often if slie knew 

How near the ii(\^e she iroti; 
How soon the gate sh i should pass throa,'!! 

And \^o to m^-et lier God. 
At parting, were those teirsof pain 
To think we ne'er sh )ulJ m i -.i ag li.i? 

H ^r life seemed very f iir ;ind bright, 

Bui God could see aheail; 
He saw soin ; shadow mar its light. 

And so in love lis led 
Where nothing earthlj' e'er could be 
To bring one thougat of miserv. 



GONE 3ZF0RE. 1»7 



'Tvvere sweet to do for her below; 

To smootii away the roiiyh. 
To wipe her tears, to balhe lier brow; 

Hill (rod said, "'Tis enough!'' 
And now in fields of beauty rare 
>She needs no more our tender care. 

Why weep we'.' In that land of liyht 

Her joy will never sleep; 
But grow eternally more bripfht — 

'Tis not fur her we weep. 
vVe weep fur those left here to mjura 
The ioved one who can ne'er return. 

Return! and would we wish her to 

llelurn our life to share! 
To Unow ajraiu the {griefs she knew 

And feel ihe load of care? 
All no! 'lis best tliat we alone 
.Should Kuuw ihe p.iiu, anJ make the m jaa. 

'Twas scarcely eighteen years slie dwelt 

Our weary hearts to cheer, 
Hut oil! llie blessings that were felt 

Hecause she lingered here! 
Tile earth was brighter where she trod 
The friends she ciiose were nearer God! 

And if the spirit ever may 

Look back lo earthly scene, 
Will she not often on our way 

Walk with us all unseen. 
And though we wist not, hcjyer near 
When clouds of doubt and gloom appear! 

We miss her, aye, we miss lu-r m'! 

Her smile so pure and briglil 
Dispelleil so much of gloom below. 

We miss llie rays of liglit, 
'J'here is a shadow on the day 
lit- r face uu longer ch-inn^ away. 



193 B3REAVED. 



We miss her at each oh'-timo place 

Where slie was wont to go; 
We pass her hoitie, and miss lier face 

And clTeery fri'eeting' so. 
Uncnn.sciouslv, we linger nigh 
To hear again lier sweet •'good byel" 

Kut (iod is jnsi: fie loved her best; 

And bore iier home to dwell: 
And though we walk witli vague unrest 

The olden patliway still. 
We'll meet her theie. ali ialioi- o'lm-. 
To part again — ali, never more! 

\\'e Kmiow now slie will always he 

As pure as wli^n she (.'atie: 
Ang-els sometimes a fall mav see, 

And sink beneatii the rdiame. 
All', better far to lose her now 
Tnan know thatsiu migliteloiid lier brow, 

Farewell, dear llattie! life is drear 

Since tliou hast h-f I our sidi>: 
But when God calls us lo appear 

In His courts to abicie. 
We'll gladly come with thee to dwell 
And liear no more the word '"Farewe'.!!"' 



BEREAVED, 

In memory of Agg-ie Nichols. 

What can I say, beloved — 

What can I say? 
Yon we so dearly loved 

Faded away! 



BEREAVED, i90 



r eaa.iot realize 

All that pertains — 
Wait till 1 learn to prize 

That vvhicli remains! 

Words are so weak, beloved — 

Words are so weaUI 
Wiiere is ihe word of love 

That I should speali? 
Lif i will fl )w on ag'aiu, 

That Tve no doubo! 
Wait till I see it plain 

Willi you witliouLl 

ff would speak cheerin<rly 

To loved ones left; 
Whisper endeariiig'ly 

To hearts bereft! 
Aifcfie, fiiryive me, dear — 

This is my cross! 
Wiiit till I learn to bear 

Calmly my loss! 

Then to your mother, dear. 

Gladly I'll yo! 
Then to that oltier, there, 

Missing you so! 
But- just a little while 

Let me wait here. 
Till 1 can learn to smile 

Without a tear! 

Then, ray farewell I say — 

Dear, did you know 
Throug'h all your earthly way, 

I loved yoii so? 
J>Jow in eternal daj'. 

Sweetly you dwell. 
But oh how sad to say, 

"Aira-ie, FarewellJ" 
(1S99) 



A CONSULTATION. 



A CONSULTATION. 



Lines to the memory of Louie Dufif Thorne. 

The Anffel of Life iind ilie An<rel of Death 

Togiitlsef were vvalchiii.'' aside b^ti <)nt! d:iy. 
VVheu the Life Ani>el spaUe with a sweet pleadiQ? breath 

"Oh, leave her a little wiiile Ioniser I pray! 
Spare that yuun^ hu-band there who would mourn for his bride 

For what wonld life be if slie left him alone? 
He needs l\er to travel eartli-paths by h's side; 

And earth will be empty wiien she shall have flowD. 
See that beautiful babe — can you look in his face, 

iiud deny him forever a fond mother's care? 
Must he ••row into manhood, and enter life's race? 

Deprived all his life of th ii sw uu in tther ther-i? 

think what it means ere yoii take her away. 
And spare her a little while longer I prayl" 

Spake the Auufel of Death, •"Tis because she is fair 
And because 1 would keep her forever unstained. 
That to-nig-ht I shall enter that door open there 
And take hei- to claim the rewarii she has gained. 
To lovely by far in tliis dark world to stay, 

1 shall lake her where ail that seems strange will be clear 
But think you she ever can wander away 

From those she has loved in hei- pilgrimage liere? 

Not so! — she shall guard them and guide them eacli day 

With the power of one who can see far ahead. 

Unknowing they'll follow her lead all the vv;iy, 

And she shall be near, thougli they say, '.She is (ieadi' 

There are dangers uuseeu, she can lead them around 

There are pitfalls their feet, but lor her, would have found?" 



112NUNCI ITION. IJOl 



•■'Oh, but listen a lucniem," tl e LilV Aiii;el plead, 

"Let ine beg ouce agaiu for the babe at her breasti 
Her hopes have been eeulered about tliat wee head, 
And liow could bhe leave liiiu and yet be at rest? 
Will he be so much bitter equipped for the strife 
That she should surrender fo'- his, her young life? — 
That life just begiuniny in all of its pride, 

l^ut thre^^ days a raoiher, atid teu mouths a bride! 

Wliy the mother has not become used to that loss? 

And how can you add so much heavier a cross? 

To call her just now woula be cruel indeed; 

Do leave her yet longer to them in their need!" 

iJut the Angel of Death only motioned dissent. 

And cut from the chamber with bowed heads they went. 

That night for his treasure the Death Angel came, 
An<l bore her forever from earth and its care; 

iSo geutly \n- enterid ai.d \vhispt^tt;d her name. 

That tile loved outs around scarcely knew he was tdir-i 

Hut the tears and the pain will not wholly be o'er. 

Till she welcoiraes theju hom«— there to part nevernwjre 
(IIIOL) 



REr^UNCIATlON- 

In memory of Dr. I>oretta J. Baird. 

There's a hush of solemn meaning; 

There's a softly-whispered name; 
There are tear-drops brightly gleaming-) 

There are sobs thai raclc tln> fr;nni'; 
There are crushed lipaiis vain y trying 

To keep back the biit'Ci tear; 
TItere are white lips bi-avely crying, 

"Take her. Lord, but she is dear!" 



202. RENUNCIATION. 



She is frorae — her gentle pity 

Can no more onr .sorrows cheer; 
She has fonnd the Golden City, 

And a home is empty l»ere, 
She, the savior o? so many. 

Could herself no healing- find; 
(Wiien God siiminons, is there uny?)' 

TaUe her, Tjonl for she was kind! 

Tliere's a w-jooni o'er imny a tl^vellinjr 
Wljere lier tender heaft was knowu; 

Tears in eyes unused are sweilinj,', 
And n ■>! womans eyes alom^! 

TJiink oot ye alone are weepinir 
Who are bo-und b_y"kii>dred lies — 

We, too, m<iurn while shi-^ lies sleepintr. 
'• j.'l'ake Iter. Ij-nrd. her ways were wisel' 

Well we knew her worth. r>ot dreaming: 

Tlii^t her work was ended so; 
Thfre was innch, in(lee(^. yet seeming- 

To await her band iielow; 
Bill not soT .May He who chastens 

Give the power to endurel 
Fray we, though a diark hour hastens,. 

'Take ber, Lord, for she was pure!" 

Time alone can still the aihguish; 

Kartli can m^'er the loss restore! 
Now .iu bitter pai» we languish 

For a Toice Ibat speaks no nu )re. 
©f such lives as hers just ended. 

Earth indeed hatb all too few. 
And our (>i'ief-wriing prayers are WerxlecJ, 

"Take ber, Lord, for she was true!" 

VVh^n the Christmas an tbeiw raises, 
WEwill listen, choked with pain;: 

She will join tl>e angel's praises, 

"i'eace on earth, good-will to menl"^ 



RENUNCIA.TION. .203 



Back to God we render purely 
His own ffift, as all earth must; 

Thankful we can say so surely, 

"Take her, Lord, for she was jast!" 

What avails this burst of sorrow? 

What avail these tears tUat sway? 
Wp; can do no more; the morrow 

Is to lier a perfect day! 
We can only to the keeping 

Of her God her soul resign, 
And sa\' bravely through our weeping 

"Take her, Father; she is Thine!" 

1901. 



™ 16 1903 



T 



—J 



